Secrets of the Hunt
by artemiskat
Summary: Tristan Amell has been privately tormented by his decision to perform the Dark Ritual. When he gets news of Morrigan, he sets off on a journey to uncover the truth, learning much more about himself than he ever fathomed.  sequel to Redemption
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Tristan grunted as the little rascal swung at his leg with the heavy wooden practice sword, causing him to lose his balance and fall backwards on his behind. The wooden sword proceeded to point directly at his neck, the scoundrel grinning broadly, clearly pleased with himself. Tristan dropped his own wooden sword in surrender, and the boy held out his hand in an offer of aid.

"You are good with a sword – for a mage." Sammy blurted out as Tristan accepted his proffered hand and pulled himself up from the muddy ground.

"And you have a bold mouth – saying something like that to the Commander of the Grey." Tristan replied, brushing the mud off his legs as best he could, for it clung to him like sticky pine sap. Tristan then attempted to ruffle Sammy's curly mop of hair in revenge, for Sammy hated it when everyone did that to him, but Sammy twisted away too quickly, laughing. Tristan laughed too.

Spring was in full bloom at Vigil's Keep, as evidenced by the abundance of mud. There were signs of renewal everywhere. The leaves were budding, the flowers in bloom, the sun a ball of warmth, and the people of the Keep buzzing around outside to and fro, relieved to finally be able to breathe fresh air after a long winter spent squished into the Keep.

Repairs to the Keep's walls were going smoothly. The village, on the other hand, was another matter. The darkspawn attack in the previous autumn had taken a great toll on the village as it had nearly been utterly destroyed. It was slowly being rebuilt. Manpower was short, but the Grey Wardens order was beginning to bloom itself. Many new recruits had stopped by the Keep during the long winter, inspired by the heroics of the order in the defense of the Keep and of Amaranthine, and the savior of Ferelden himself, Tristan.

Tristan, however, did not feel much like a hero. Sure, he had defeated the archdemon well over a year and a half ago now, and he had risen to the title of Lord of Amaranthine and Commander of the Grey Wardens. Not too shabby for a lowly commoner who had spent most of his life in the Circle Tower. But in the process of saving everyone, he had let down his friends, Alistair and Melisende. He broke up the happy couple when he concocted a marriage match between Alistair and Anora, thinking that would be a good way to unite Ferelden in the face of the Blight. And then, distracted by his secret, he had neglected to tell Melisende many things, which almost cost her life. They had both forgiven him, but he had yet to forgive himself.

"Back to work, Sammy." Tristan playfully shoved the boy towards the village, where most of the Wardens and Keep soldiers were helping to rebuild. Sammy had grown like a weed during the winter. He was no longer the little boy that had followed Melisende around last autumn. He had protested loudly when Melisende and Nathaniel had ventured out to hunt down the last of the darkspawn all throughout the winter, begging to be allowed to go with them. They had refused, saying little boys couldn't go out on dangerous missions. They had yet to return to the Keep, sending notice that they were on their way to Highever, but that they would return soon. Sammy kept a watchful eye at the gates. He wanted to fight just as they did, but since they were gone most of the winter, Sammy had begged Tristan to teach him some swordplay. Tristan agreed, as long as he had the time for it. He went easy on the boy, for as much as he had grown, he still had more growing to do before he became a young man.

"Ah, do I have to? Swordplay is much more fun than picking up rubbish." Sammy complained. Tristan laughed.

"Yes, you have to. I have to get back to my duties as well." Tristan replied. He pointed towards the village.

"But you're the commander; you can do anything you want." 

"If only it were so. Duty calls and I must go." Tristan explained as a private came sprinting towards him from the Keep.

"Well, when I'm commander, I will do whatever I want." Sammy said as he walked toward the village reluctantly. Tristan grinned and turned towards the private.

"Commander, I have a message for you," she said, taking out a rolled up vellum and handing it over to Tristan.

"Thank you." Tristan replied as he took the vellum. It was stamped with the royal seal. With a sense of foreboding, he returned to the Keep.

…

Tristan dropped the message onto the floor and sighed. He clutched at his head as it began to throb. He could hardly believe what he just read. He was alone in the hall, everyone taking advantage of the warm spring day outside. He was suddenly grateful for the peace and quiet.

_By the Maker, he's done it,_ Tristan thought in disbelief. Alistair had found a lead on Morrigan's whereabouts. _Yet, I don't know if I should be grateful or curse this day ever happening_.

Morrigan had been carrying his seed last he had seen her. She no doubt had given birth to the child by now. It was all he could think of since the dark ritual. Had he made a mistake? Was living worth it if he could not even know of his child? He was torn. He had promised Morrigan to never seek her out. But knowing he had a child out there, he couldn't just walk away. He had to know what he had created. It could be the only child he ever had. He had to know her intentions. What if he had done the wrong thing? What if Morrigan was going to use this child for something terrible? No wonder his head throbbed in pain every time he thought of this. Nobody knew of the ritual except for Melisende. He wished that she was there now, so he could ask her advice.

Quiet footsteps echoed in the hall, causing Tristan to look up. It was Velanna. The stubborn elf had proven herself somewhat of a friend in the last couple of months. She had even warmed up to humans, to a certain extent, surprising everyone when she singlehandedly saved a human village from darkspawn stragglers. When they were in the Mother's Lair, they had found her sister Seranni. Since then, Velanna had seemed to be at peace with herself, truly embracing the cause of the Grey Wardens.

"Is something wrong, commander?" she asked as she neared Tristan.

"I… I need to go to Denerim," he replied. "I have business with the King."

"Oh?" Velanna cocked an eyebrow towards him. Tristan gave her a stern look, hoping she wouldn't probe further. She didn't. "I will leave you be then."

"No," Tristan said as Velanna began to turn back. "Please, stay. Did you need something?"

"Not really," she replied, stopping in her tracks.

"Well, distract me." Tristan pleaded. He needed his head to stop throbbing, his thoughts to settle down. Velanna sighed.

"Very well then," she agreed. She regarded Tristan calmly for a moment, thinking of what to say. Even though they were friendly, she found it hard to relate to him. She had hated humans for so long that being among them was strange. She had no idea how to converse with them sometimes. She stared at his tattoo. Ever since she had met him, she had found it odd that he had one on his face, though it was somewhat faded from time. After a time spent with the Wardens, she realized it was a Dalish design, a _vallaslin_ – blood writing, though it covered only half of his face when it should have been all over. She had never asked him about it before. She hesitated for a moment, and then decided to bring it up. "Your tattoo. It is Dalish. Why is that?"

Tristan considered her question with surprise. It was not the first time a Dalish elf had asked him about his tattoo. He always had the same answer. "Truth be told, you are not the first to ask of it. And truth be told, I never have an answer, except to say that for as long as I can remember, it has always been there…"

"Your parents?"

Tristan shrugged. As far as he knew, he was an orphan, raised by the Circle of Magi after being plucked from the streets of Denerim by the Templars when he very nearly roasted some bullies in the back alleys.

"Hmm, a mystery then. If you ever solve it, let me know, for now you have my curiousity bubbling."

"Yes, if ever…" Tristan replied thoughtfully. Right now, he had more pressing mysteries to solve, like the whereabouts of Morrigan and his child.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

25 years ago…

"Andruil, let my hand not waver, let my arrow be swift and silent, let my target not suffer. I ask today that you would bless me with your child's sacrifice." Siofra whispered silently to herself as she took aim with her bow at a stag. The stag stood at the edge of the forest clearing, nibbling contently at a berry bush. Siofra had been tracking it for a good two hours now, waiting for the right time and for a clear shot. Now she had it, she set herself ready for the release.

The stag cocked its ears back, looking up from its snack. It was startled by something rustling through the bushes and Siofra cursed as it swiftly jumped away. She was already in a releasing motion and the arrow went flying through the air to where the stag was. Only now there was a person there, a _shemlen_, gasping and out of breath, emerging from the bush. Before Siofra could call out a warning, the arrow hit the man in the shoulder, knocking him back into the bushes. Blood spilled onto the berries, making it look like they were bleeding, and not the man on top of them.

Siofra stood her ground among the trees, not trusting the man. She wasn't sure that he was alone. It was better to wait and see before she approached him. _If _she decided to approach him. This could be a trick of Fen'Harel. She didn't have much contact with humans as her father never let her go anywhere near them. She studied the man closely as he sat on the ground in pain and clutched at the arrow lodged into his shoulder. He was young, probably her own age. He was wearing the sort of clothes Siofra had seen peasant farmers wear - from afar of course - trousers and a loose shirt. He had short, wavy brown hair and almond shaped brown eyes. He cursed his luck and made to stand up, only to fall, exhausted, back to the ground.

…

Rory couldn't believe his luck. He had made it this far only to be shot down by an arrow. Maker, he was an idiot. He couldn't even remove it. The culprit who shot him had not shown his face yet. Perhaps they were waiting for him to weaken before coming to finish the job? Maybe he never should have run away in the first place.

"Apologies, _shemlen_, my arrow was meant for the stag." He looked up in surprise as a lithe elf gracefully sauntered out of the forest. She was wearing a green hunting outfit. Her hair was tied back into a long braid. It shone like a golden rope as the little bit of sun poking through the forest canopy hit it. Her eyes were slightly slanted, sparkling as blue as the sky. _Maker's breath,_ he thought, catching his breath, _she is the most beautiful creature I have ever had the chance to lay eyes upon. _He was speechless. He could not find the words to reply.

"Have you lost your tongue? You were spewing quite a mouthful just a second ago," the elf teased as she neared him. She crouched down to examine the arrow. "It is not deep. I can pull it out, if you wish?"

Rory watched her calmly, mesmerized by her beauty, puzzled by her kindness. Didn't Dalish elves hate humans? He nodded his assent to her suggestion and braced himself for pain.

"_Ma nuvenin_," the elf said as she grabbed hold of the arrow stem and pulled. _As you wish_. He winced in pain, but it was over quickly. She placed some cloth over the wound and applied pressure. "What is a _shemlen_ doing in the forest anyway?"

"Excuse me?" Rory replied. He didn't know what a _shemlen_ was.

"A _human_. What are you doing in the forest? You scared away my dinner," the elf explained, a hint of frustration in her melodic voice.

"I, um, I…" Rory was at a loss for words. Should he tell her the truth? That he was an apostate, running away from the Templars? Or should he pretend to be a dimwitted peasant, lost in the woods? The latter option looked closer to the truth at the present moment. He sure felt like a dimwit, unable to speak. He decided to go with the truth. "I am fleeing the Templars. I am an apostate."

…

Siofra didn't believe the man. He did not look like a mage. He was too stupid to be a mage. Nevertheless, she nodded and pretended to believe him. She tied the cloth to his shoulder and rose from his side.

"Well, I will show you out of the forest…" she suggested. The man shook his head vehemently.

"No. Please. I am telling the truth. I am running from Templars. They will kill me if they find me," he pleaded. Siofra studied him, tried to read his intentions. After a minute, she decided that there was no reason for him to lie. He must actually be a mage. It made her uneasy. Magic was dangerous, especially in the hands of an apostate human.

"Prove it." Siofra said and backed away. The man looked at a loss. He reminded Siofra of a caged bird she had once seen, anxiously flapping its wings to escape but hitting the roof of the cage again and again.

"It isn't that easy…" he explained.

Frustrated, Siofra began to walk away. She would leave him here. Let him go his own way. She didn't have to help him at all. In fact, it was better that she didn't help him, for her father would be furious with her if he even knew what she had already done. Her clan preferred to avoid humans at all cost.

"Wait!" the human croaked, desperation in his voice. Siofra stopped and turned around to look at him. He was frantically concentrating on a point just in front of Siofra. Suddenly, a small fireball appeared in that spot. Startled, Siofra jumped back. The human grinned. "Impressed?"

Siofra crossed her arms in annoyance. "Slightly."

Clutching at his wound, the human stood up. He was tall, very tall. Siofra felt uncomfortable facing him, for she had to crane her neck upwards, something she was not used to doing.

"Will you help me?" he asked, his face expectant and hopeful.

Siofra laughed nervously. "How can _I_ help _you _anymore than I already have? You have made it this far with little help. Surely you don't need any more of mine."

"Well…" the man ran his hand through his hair, hesitating. "I need a place to hide. To rest. I've been on the run for a long time now."

"It is not my problem." Siofra retorted. She really should be getting back to the village. Her father would be worried about her. By the gods, she didn't want him to know what she was up to right about now. He would have a fit.

"Please?" the man begged, his puppy dog eyes undoing her resolve.

"Fine. I know of a place to hide you." Siofra turned to the edge of the woods and gestured for him to follow. "Mythal protect me," she muttered under her breath.

…

Rory had a hard time keeping up with the elf. She was swift and quiet as a fox. He lost her quite a few times and she had to backtrack to lead him back onto the right path. _Maker, she must think me an idiot_. He was however, surprised and pleased that she was helping him. Maybe now he could get some proper rest before deciding his next move. He thought he had lost the Templars on his trail, but since they had his phylactery, they would find him sooner or later. He hoped they were too frightened to venture into the forest, but somehow he didn't think that possible. _What I would give just to be free of that blasted Circle!_

After a while walking through the wending forest paths and even a bit off the beaten track, they came upon ruins. Rory stared in awe at the massive old structure covered in vines and overgrown plants.

"Wow, what is this place?" he asked the elf. She turned to look at him and smiled proudly.

"These are ruins of my ancestors. Behold their majesty, _shemlen_," she answered sarcastically.

"They must have been something truly majestic in their full glory." Rory concurred.

"You can hide inside. Don't even think of taking anything from the ruins. They belong to my people," she warned as she gestured for him to go into the ruins.

"You have my promise and my eternal gratitude." Rory replied. He made no move forward. He stared, smiling like a dimwit, at the elf. She let out a short, melodic laugh. Rory found himself burning from ear to ear as his heart leapt at the sweet sound. _Even her laugh is breathtaking._

"Well, go in and hide." The elf prodded him forward. Her touch sent a shiver down his spine.

"You are leaving me?" he managed to ask.

"I must get back to my clan. I have helped you, twice now. There is nothing more I can do. There is nothing more I dare do," she replied impatiently.

"Will I see you again?" he asked. He wanted to see her again. Very badly. He had to come up with some sort of excuse to get her to come back. She hesitated.

"Why?"

"I… um… uh… I don't know how to hunt. I need to eat. Yes. I know I scared off that stag. I am sorry. But um, if you could spare some food…" Rory did his best to look helpless and idiotic. It had worked so far. Besides, it was pretty close to the truth. He didn't really know how to hunt… properly. He knew how to use his magic to catch and cook a hare, but what the elf didn't know wouldn't hurt, right? The elf sighed in exasperation.

"Fine, I will come back tomorrow." She turned to leave. Rory turned to go into the ruins. Then he remembered his manners.

"Wait," he called out. "What is your name?"

Without stopping or looking back, the elf called back. "Siofra."

_Maker, even her name was beautiful_.

"I am Rory," he hollered back, and then more to himself than her, "Rory Amell."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Tristan walked as inconspicuously as he could through the market of Denerim. He had shed his armor and concealed his sword, wearing a cloak and hood to veil his face. He really did not want anyone to recognize him. He didn't know if anyone would, but didn't want to take that chance. No doubt Alistair had concocted some horrid ballad in his honor and everyone would know by now what he looked like. He was not in the mood to receive pleasantries or anything of that sort.

Denerim, he had to admit, had certainly recovered quickly from the Blight. Most of it was rebuilt or in the process of being repaired. The market was bustling, just like the old days. The gossips were out, talking of this or that. Tristan didn't really pay attention to them. He intended to get to the palace as soon as possible so that Alistair could tell him what he had found out about Morrigan.

Tristan had left the Keep in a hurry, handing over the reins of the order to Anders. Anders graciously accepted, but when he had asked Tristan when he would come back, Tristan had said he didn't know. Anders had looked nervous then, but Tristan assured him that he would have all the help he needed when Melisende and Nathaniel returned. He could also turn to the other senior Wardens – Sigrun, Oghren, Velanna, and Justice – if he needed. With Anders reassured, Tristan had set off quickly, forgetting to say goodbyes. _Maker, I can be a jerk sometimes_, he thought on his way to Denerim. It was this business with Morrigan. It was getting to him. He had to end it soon.

Quite unexpectedly, Tristan's thoughts and vision were suddenly interrupted by the arrival of two hands reaching from behind to cover his eyes. He nearly stumbled in surprise, and was about to reach for his sword when he heard a tuneful giggle. His heart fluttering, he removed the hands gently and turned around.

"Leliana!" he exclaimed, dumbfounded and puzzled.

"Of course! You were not expecting anyone else, no?" the red haired bard coyly replied. The Orlesian lilt in her voice sent a shiver down his spine. Tristan grinned broadly and pulled Leliana into an embrace.

"I didn't think you were in Denerim… how did you recognize me?" he asked, pointing to his cloak and hood, which still left half of his face in shadows.

"I would recognize the set of your shoulders anywhere. Did you think I looked anywhere else as I followed you all those months?" Leliana replied. Tristan laughed. His gaze lingered hungrily on her lips.

"In any case, I've missed you, so badly." Tristan murmured huskily. In the middle of the market, he ran a hand through Leliana's hair, which he noticed was slightly longer than he remembered. Leliana squeezed him closely in return and stood poised on her tiptoes to give him a long, lingering kiss.

"Oh get a room!" shouted a raggedy boy who stood not far away with his group of gangly boys. One of them picked up a few pebbles from the ground and threw it at Tristan. Unperturbed, Tristan held onto Leliana. The boys hollered and teased some more until finally, Leliana broke free. _Damn rascals_, Tristan thought. He turned to glare at the boys, but Leliana laughed and leaned up to whisper into his ear.

"Why don't we do as these boys say? Hmm? Let us go to my room at the palace. It has been too long my love."

"It would be impolite to enter the palace without first greeting the King…" Tristan hesitated, slightly.

"I know for a fact that he is busy at the moment. He will not begrudge us this, surely."

"Very well, it has been way too long…" Tristan was not going to argue any further. His mind was for once in a long while set on one thing and one thing only – reuniting with his love.

…

Later in the palace, after his long tryst with Leliana, Tristan found himself barely able to keep his eyes open. His journey to Denerim had been swift, but he had exhausted himself in the process. Leliana lounged on the bed beside him, only a thin sheet covering her. She was chattering away about her meeting with the Grand Cleric. Tristan wanted to pay attention, but he was finding it hard to keep his head up. Leliana jumped from one topic to another and all Tristan could do was nod and say the occasional token words.

"When I heard how much danger you were in last autumn I wanted to come to you so badly…" she fussed over him. "But then I thought how capable you were. I had heard the news too late anyway. I only just arrived back in Denerim and you didn't even write!"

"Sorry." Tristan said, stifling a yawn. _Bloody Andraste, I guess I did forget to write to her. Maker, I'll never hear the end of it now. _Leliana pouted and crossed her arms over her chest in indignation. Tristan sighed, and then reached over to grab her playfully. "I'm sorry. I am. Truly sorry. It slipped my mind. You know how horrible I am with writing and letters."

"Well, I can see you are tired so we will speak of it no more… for now." Leliana replied, squirming away from Tristan. They lay there silently for a few moments. Leliana turned back toward Tristan and curled up into his side. She traced circles on his chest. "Why are you not at the Keep, anyway?" she finally asked.

Tristan sighed inwardly. He was going to have to tell her. He almost wished she was still off doing her own thing. It would have made things so much easier, at least until he finally confronted Morrigan. But Leliana was here, and he would have to tell her about Morrigan. And from there she would wonder why he was even interested in seeing Morrigan again. Then he would have to break her heart and come clean. About the ritual. About his child with Morrigan. _By the Maker, what kind of mess have I gotten myself into?_

"Well?" Leliana prodded. He was a coward. He couldn't do this now. He made a big show of looking dead tired, which wasn't that hard to do considering he _was_ very tired, but a little embellishment didn't hurt anyone.

"Later," he said, closing his eyes. "I'm dead tired right now."

Leliana rolled her eyes as Tristan feigned sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Siofra stood by her father's aravel, attaching arrow tips to wooden stems. Her older sister Neria sat by the fire, preparing dinner. Siofra felt like Neria was watching her and it was annoying her. She turned the other way and began to hum a song as she worked. Siofra could still feel her sister's eyes boring into her. Finally, she couldn't take it anymore. She ended her song abruptly and threw her work onto the ground.

"What!" she gasped, glaring at Neria. Neria continued stirring the pot, sitting calmly and quietly. Siofra walked over to the fire and took a seat. "Well, are you going to answer me?"

Neria slowly began pouring the contents of the pot into serving bowls. Siofra tapped her foot in impatience. "I have noticed, sister, that lately you have been going out to hunt more often than usual." Neria finally spoke.

"Your point?" Siofra retorted. She felt a slight unease in the pit of her stomach.

"Although you have been hunting more than usual, you seem to bring in less than you used to." Neria paused, passing a bowl to Siofra. "Now I wonder why that is. You are a great hunter."

Siofra tried to keep her hands from shaking. _By the gods, she is on to me_. Neria was right, she had been going out to hunt more often, but that was because she was actually going to the ruins, to check on Rory and to give him whatever she caught. It had been two weeks since she had accidently shot him. His wound was better, yet he did not make any move to leave. Nor did the Templars come around. Siofra had no idea why she kept going to see him. She knew he could take care of himself. He didn't need her to feed him. She supposed she was just curious. She had never known a human before. He had many stories to tell and he was such a buffoon that he made her laugh all the time. But if her father ever found out what was going on… she didn't even want to think of the possibilities. Her sister becoming suspicious was bad enough. She had to deflect the suspicions somehow.

"I guess I just have not been lucky." Siofra said, trying to hide the anxiety from her voice. She shrugged, and then took a bite of her meal.

"Luck? You are skilled, you don't need luck." Neria mused, keeping a watchful eye on Siofra.

"Even the most skilled hunters cannot combat poor pickings." Siofra replied. She needed to change the subject. "Where is your husband?"

"He trades with humans." Neria said, a look of annoyance overcoming her face. At that moment, Siofra's father Theron joined them at the fire. Siofra and Neria nodded their greetings.

"_Andaren atish'an_, daughters," he said as he sat down and accepted a bowl from Neria. They ate in silence for a few moments. The forest leaves rustled and shook in the wind. A warm breeze swayed into the camp, causing the cooking fire to ripple and crackle. Theron regarded Siofra intently. Siofra became uncomfortable again. She unconsciously squirmed. "_Emm'asha,_" he said. _My girl_.

"Father?" Siofra replied. She put her bowl down. _Uh oh he's got that serious look on his face. I hope this is not about my forest wanderings…_

"You are not such a little girl anymore, are you? No, you are a young woman. I am getting old." He paused and sighed. Siofra let go of her breath, unaware that she had been holding it in. "I think it is time for you to undergo the _vallaslin_. It is time you get your tattoos."

Siofra was caught off guard. She knew this day was coming. She had been looking forward to it. Her excitement grew and she smiled broadly at her father. She would become a fully fledged adult, and a full member of the clan.

"Oh father, I am pleased!" she exclaimed. She got up and ran to Theron, giving him a big hug. Theron was not expecting this and, a little awkwardly, returned the hug, chuckling at his daughter's enthusiasm.

"You know it will be painful." Neria warned, a look of envy at the love Theron showed his youngest daughter. Theron, who rarely smiled or laughed, could only ever do so at the antics of Siofra.

"I am ready, Neria." Siofra said, releasing her father. Neria rolled her eyes.

"There is also the matter of finding you a husband." Theron continued. Siofra tensed up, not sure if she was ready for this part yet. "I would suggest Silas, he is a great hunter."

Siofra snorted. "He is also the Keeper's son."

Theron looked crossly at Siofra. "There is no other worthy of you, _emm'asha_." Siofra reddened. She glanced quickly at Neria, who gathered the now empty bowls with a scowl on her face. Siofra had grown up with Silas, but they had never been friends. He always stood aloof from the other elves. He carried an air of superiority with him that grated on Siofra and she tended to ignore him, though he rarely paid any attention to her anyway.

Neria, on the other hand, looked at Silas as all the other female elves did – Silas was as close to a god as any had ever seen. She had hoped that she and he could have been matched, but that never happened. Her father had pushed her to match with Alras. Alras the poor hunter, and even worse warrior. He couldn't even aim an arrow to save his life. Alras, the utter bore who relied on trade with humans to make a living. She wondered why her father even pushed for the match, seeing as he hated humans so much. She had thought that Theron would have nothing to do with Alras since he was the only one among the clan to ever have regular contact with humans. Yes, Silas would have been the perfect match for her. He was handsome, a great warrior, and he could provide her with anything she ever dreamed of. Instead, Theron was suggesting Silas to Siofra, and no doubt he had already brought up the matter with Silas.

"Excuse me, but, I uh, have to go, um collect herbs for the elders. I promised them I would." Siofra said, quickly making up an excuse to get out of there. Well, it was true, she had promised to find herbs for the elders, but she didn't have to do it now. "Before it gets dark." She added for good measure. Her father sighed and waved her off. She nodded her thanks and quickly darted down the path to the forest. She would go see Rory, and tell him the good news.

Meanwhile, Theron stood up, ready to get back to work. He was the clan's craftsmaster, carving weapons out of the powerful ironbark for a living. Neria smiled his way as he passed her. "Father," she acknowledged. He gave her a short grunt and did not bother looking her way, or even thanking her for the meal. Enraged at the favour he clearly showed Siofra, she furiously threw the bowls onto the ground. No matter what she did, no matter that she was the first born; she always got the short end of the stick. It was always Siofra this and Siofra that. What did she ever do to deserve this? She found herself asking that over and over again. It wasn't even her fault that mother had died. _That_, that was Siofra's doing. Siofra came into this world and dragged her mother out of it.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

"Well, are you going to tell me why you are here, or are you going to avoid it all day?" Leliana prodded Tristan. Tristan yawned and stretched his arms as he gazed through a window to the streets of Denerim. "Oh, don't give me that 'I am too tired' routine again."

Tristan turned to Leliana and flashed her a mischievous grin. "Why not? It worked once before," he teased. He went over to Leliana and gathered her in his arms.

"Stop teasing," Leliana replied, playfully nudging Tristan in the shoulder.

"Can't I just enjoy being with my love again?" Tristan continued, leaning down to bury his face in Leliana's neck. She shivered with delight at the gesture.

"Tristan, please. If it is something bad, I want to know." Leliana would not be deterred. Tristan sighed as he removed himself from Leliana.

"Fine," he said finally. This was not going to be easy. How did you go about breaking someone's heart? Because he knew that was what was going to happen. He couldn't sugarcoat it. It was what it was, betrayal. Even if it was done with good intentions, he didn't think Leliana would see it that way. There was no avoiding it anymore and there was no more place for secrets between them. He hesitated, unsure of where to start.

"I am here because Alistair has found some information on Morrigan's whereabouts." Tristan began. Leliana looked a little puzzled.

"Why would that matter? She left of her own free will, did she not?" Leliana asked.

"Well, yes, but there is more to the story…"

"Oh, and you never told me this before?"

"I… didn't think it mattered. But now, now I think it does." Tristan stopped and gestured for Leliana to sit down. She did, but his manner was making her nervous and it showed on her face.

"Go on…" Leliana encouraged. Tristan took a seat next to Leliana. He had to look her in the eye when he told her. Otherwise he wasn't a man. They were grey at the moment. Her eyes changed colors sometimes in the different light. They were very pretty. He took a deep breath.

"Morrigan has my… baby." There, it was out. It was a relief, only a brief relief, though, as he saw the look of puzzlement on Leliana's face turn to one of befuddled anger.

"What! Are you saying you slept with Morrigan? Is that what you are saying? Please tell me I am mistaken…" Tristan froze, unable to reply. "Tristan…"

"It wasn't like that."

Leliana laughed in disbelief. "It wasn't like _that_? You slept with her and now she has a child with you! You never thought to tell me this before!"

"It wasn't as if I enjoyed it. It was part of a ritual, so that no Grey Warden would have to die killing the archdemon. I did it for you…" Tristan tried to explain. _That didn't come out right, Maker, that sounds ridiculous._

"You did it for me? Do you realize what you are saying?" Leliana stood up and backed away from Tristan, a look of hurt on her face. Tristan felt horrible. He didn't know what to say. As ridiculous as it sounded, he did do it for her.

"I don't love Morrigan, I love you," he said, getting up and attempting to grab her hand, but she brushed him away.

"Don't touch me. Get away from me. Please, just go away." Leliana pleaded. Tristan watched her for a moment, a look of pity on his face. She did not look at him. He left the room. _I am an idiot_.

…

Leliana was furious. She threw the pillows off the bed in a silent fit. Morrigan. Oh that Morrigan. She was always trouble. She knew it. She remembered how Morrigan had taunted her before Tristan and she had ever gotten together.

"_Why would he choose you, when he could have me?_ _The way you look at him so intently, so hungrily... one would think you have never seen a man before_._"_ Morrigan had told her.

"_Where I look is not your concern." _She had coolly replied. She had tried to ignore her, but Morrigan had continued.Leliana had lost her cool then as Morrigan had baited her, like the vindictive witch she was.

"_It is almost as though you wish he would feel your gaze upon him and notice you. And maybe he does notice you, but what does he see? A girl, skinny like a boy, with wild, ragged hair." _

"_What is your point, Morrigan? That I am not attractive? I do not need to make disparaging remarks about other women to make myself feel better. I know who I am. You say that I am the one who tries to be noticed, when it is you. He has ignored your advances, hasn't he? Perhaps it's time you stop projecting your own troubles on someone else." _It had felt good to tell her off. She wasn't blind; she had noticed Morrigan trying to catch Tristan's attention. It had bothered her, but in the end, she had won. Tristan had chosen her. Morrigan still came to gloat at her. 

"_So he has chosen you. You think this is a triumph? Look at him... look at him and know that you will never truly have him." _Morrigan had said one day at camp.

"_Jealousy, Morrigan. Tsk, tsk... it is not becoming…" _Leliana had replied good-naturedly.

"_You mock me, but when he is in your arms, in your bed, telling you he loves you, know that there will be moments when he is thinking of me." _Morrigan had regarded her with such malice at that moment that Leliana had nearly slapped her.

"_Andraste forgive me, but you, Morrigan, are a bitch. A cruel, cruel bitch, and you will get your comeuppance." _

"_Perhaps. But even so, you know in your heart that I am right." _Morrigan had walked away like the cat that had caught the canary.

Remembering these events, maybe Leliana hadn't won after all. Morrigan had got what she wanted. Tristan said that he loved her, but how could she be so sure? He had kept this secret from her for over a year. And now it seemed that he was searching for Morrigan. How could she ever trust him again?

"Bitch." Leliana muttered under her breath while she ripped open a pillow with her dagger.

…

"The hero of Ferelden!" Alistair declared enthusiastically as Tristan entered the royal parlor. As Tristan reached Alistair, he was patted on the back. Tristan tried to smile, but he felt miserable. Anora was in the room, watching the friends greet each other with an air of superiority.

"My King," Tristan greeted Alistair.

"Oh please, don't you dare bow to me. Just call me Alistair, like old times."

"Well, sure, but stop calling me the Hero of Ferelden." Tristan said as Alistair next took Tristan's arm in greeting.

"But that's what you are." Alistair sarcastically whined.

"And you are king."

"Well, I guess you have a good point there." Alistair laughed. Anora walked over to them ever so elegantly, her head held up high in regal fashion.

"Your majesty." Tristan greeted her.

"Warden." Anora replied. The three of them stood there a little awkwardly. Anora wasn't all that enthusiastic about Tristan being there. Even though he had helped her step onto the throne, he had been the one to kill Loghain, her father. And even though she knew her father was not right in the head and had been the cause of Cailan's death, it was no reason to be happy about his death. Finally, she politely excused herself. "Well, I shall leave you two alone."

Anora walked quietly out of the room, her elven serving woman following closely behind. Tristan noticed Alistair's gaze linger on her behind.

"So… things are well between you two?" Tristan asked curiously. Alistair cleared his throat and quickly turned his attention back to Tristan, a little embarrassed at being caught.

"Well, she's, uh, quite a handful, but we're making it work, so far." Alistair replied.

"Good." Tristan nodded.

"What about you? How are things? The Keep, how does it fare? And… Mel, how is she?" Alistair asked enthusiastically.

"Woah, one question at a time."

"Sorry, I just get so dreadfully bored here sometimes. The Grey Wardens were my life."

Tristan looked sadly at Alistair. "The Keep is good, the order is good, and Mel, she is great."

"Ah, sometimes I wish I wasn't King of Ferelden. I sorely miss battling darkspawn and all manner of evil things. The defense of Vigil's Keep, your defeat of the broodmother; I wish I was there for it all." Alistair said wistfully.

"And I wish you were by my side, brother." Tristan replied. They sat quietly for a few seconds, each of them pondering the past when they had battled together. They were young men, and woman, for who could forget Melisende, thrust by fate into the fight of their lives, forced to save their land from the worst of fates. Not that they were much older now, really only a few years had passed since then, but it had been so grand, so epic, and they had risen so far now that they felt, maybe not old, but like wise veterans, content to revisit old glories in memory, but wary of revisiting them in reality. However, some things were left unfinished, like Tristan's reason for being here. "Anyway, you know why I'm here. What news have you?"

Alistair's face suddenly changed to one of slight disgust. "Yes, Morrigan. You know, I don't know why you had me send out scouts to look for her."

Tristan sighed. "I know, I know, everybody thinks Morrigan is a bitch."

"And you obviously think otherwise…" Alistair remarked.

"She saved our lives, you know." 

"I fail to see how."

"Let me explain…" Tristan took a deep breath and then proceeded to tell Alistair all about the Dark Ritual. Why he had chosen not to tell Alistair right away, he didn't know. But it was out now. And if Alistair thought less of him, then so be it. He couldn't wave his magic wand and change the past, could he? Alistair seemed to absorb the news before saying anything.

"So… you _slept_ with Morrigan?" Alistair asked finally, a thoughtful look on his face.

Tristan sighed. "Really Alistair, out of that whole story, out of all the details of how Morrigan saved our lives, you choose to focus on _that_?"

"Well, sorry," Alistair chuckled, "but it is a little… surprising."

"Maker, you were going to say _disgusting_, weren't you?"

"No, no. You said it, not me." Alistair continued to chuckle. Tristan crossed his arms over his chest in annoyance and frowned.

"Anyway…"

"Alright, alright, back to seriousness now. Sorry. I really am." Alistair calmed down, throwing an apologetic smile to Tristan. "I still don't understand why you want to _find_ Morrigan. Surely you don't _love_ her?"

"Now Alistair, do I have to get Wynne to come here and explain in simple terms what occasionally happens nine months after a man and a woman have sex?" Tristan asked sarcastically.

"Oh…" Alistair replied as what Tristan was trying to tell him dawned on him. "So you want your child?"

"I need to know what she's up to. I don't trust her."

"Well, I could have told you that a long time ago…" Alistair began to chastise, but seeing Tristan's look of despair, he quickly shut up. "In any case, my scouts have told me of a sighting at Flemeth's hut."

"Flemeth's hut?" Tristan replied, thoughtfully thumping his chin. "Now that is too convenient. But whatever the case, I will go there, immediately."

Tristan arose from his seat and took a bow to Alistair.

"What? You're leaving right away?" Alistair stood up himself.

"I need this to be resolved. It has been gnawing at me all this time. Forgive me."

"No, I understand." Alistair replied. Tristan turned to leave, but Alistair grabbed his arm and held him back for a moment. "For what it's worth, thank you. You saved our lives and now you alone are facing the consequences."

"I will thank Morrigan, for it was her doing. And I will find her. I will find my child." Tristan began walking out of the room as Alistair let him go. He stopped abruptly and turned around. "Could you make sure Leliana is alright?"

"She knows?" Alistair asked. Tristan nodded. "I will make sure of it."

With that, Tristan left the room and the palace. Alistair stood pondering what Tristan had told him. Against all odds, Tristan had a child… _with Morrigan_. Morrigan had used Tristan, no doubt. Perhaps there was a shred of good in what she had done. But Alistair knew Morrigan; in the end she only looked out for herself. The thought of her raising a child… it made him shiver. If she had come to Alistair with the same proposal, he didn't know what he would have done. Tristan was a good man, but one he did not envy at this moment, that was for certain.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Rory was impressed by the ruins. Every day he would walk around and try to imagine what they looked like in their entire splendor. He found it very interesting and a little sad that the elves had once been able to build such magnificent structures. He was also surprised that he was still there. The Templars could come and snatch him at any moment, but the thought never entered his mind. In fact, his thoughts were mostly occupied by Siofra.

There had been elves at the Circle Tower, but none of them were Dalish. And none of them were nearly as beautiful as Siofra. _Ah, I could stare at her all day and be happy_. Moreover, Siofra was very smart. She told him a lot about elves and she was eager to learn all she could about humans. So he told her as much stories as he could recall. He even made some up, though he didn't tell her they were part of his imagination. And her laugh, _if making an ass of myself causes her to laugh her magical laugh, then I will gladly do so_, he thought. No, there was no way he could tear himself away from here, not if it meant leaving behind Siofra. She was a jewel of the forest. He couldn't bear to leave her. So he pushed thoughts of Templars and the Circle out of his mind as much as he could.

Rory couldn't, however, stop his thoughts from wandering to his family every now and again. Today, as he walked around the ruins, he thought of them. His father, his mother, and his sister. All living normal lives in Lothering. Did they ever think of him? Did they hate the Circle as much as he did? Maybe not, they probably thought it was the best for him. That is what the chantry told them when they dragged him away from his family as a child. They had seen his magic and couldn't afford to leave him be. Rory remembered how much his mother had cried when the Templars came for him. Rory didn't cry. He never did.

He wanted to see his family, but he didn't know if they would recognize him, nor if he would even recognize them. Perhaps they had forgotten him? The possibility frightened him and he supposed that that was part of the reason he hesitated in going to Lothering. There was that and the fact that the Templars would probably snatch him up more easily if he showed up in town. The thing he needed to do the most was to destroy his phylactery. But he didn't know where that was. And so he stayed in the ruins.

His thoughts then turned to the Circle. He had hated it there. He felt caged. He couldn't do what he wanted. He had no choice in anything. He was only an apprentice. He had yet to undertake the Harrowing. From what he heard, it was a difficult test. He could either become a mage or die. Really, if he had had a choice in the matter, if he had had the power to live his life by his own free will, he would rather not be a mage. He certainly didn't want to die. He paced back and forth, clutching at his head and cursing under his breath. He picked up a small piece of rubble and smashed it onto a root, letting out a roar of frustration.

"Rory?" Siofra quietly called out from behind. Rory turned to look at her, cracking a slight smile on his face. She walked slowly over to him, concern visible on her face. "Are you alright?"

It felt odd for someone to express concern over him. It was something Rory was not used to, something that had not happened since he was with his family. It was odd, but it felt good. Siofra made him feel like he was worth something. That he wasn't just an abomination waiting to happen. "Yes… I'm fine now that you are here…"

Siofra blushed. Rory noticed and grinned. She shifted uncomfortably on her feet, and then pointed at the smashed up piece of rubble. "What were you doing?"

"Target practice. You see that root? That is a Templar. Or it was. Now it is a mangled mess." Rory explained with amusement. Siofra laughed nervously. "You don't approve? Killing Templars, even if imagined, is not to your taste?"

Siofra didn't know what to say. She could tell that Rory was angry. He probably had every reason to be angry, but he had never told her why he hated the Templars so much or why he was running from them. She knew that he was an apostate and that is what happened to apostates, but she still couldn't understand his vehement loathing of them that surfaced now and again since she had met him. "You talk a lot, tell me of many things, yet there is one thing that you have never told me. Why did you run from the Circle? Is it really that horrible?"

Rory chuckled. "Is it really that horrible? Yes it is. Imagine for a moment being taken from your family as a child and thrown into that dark and depressing tower and locked up, guarded by Templars, most of whom distrust and fear magic. There was no free will, no choice. I might as well have been a prisoner…" Rory kicked at the dirt in frustration.

"I'm sorry. That _is_ horrible. What made you finally decide to run?" Siofra looked kindly at Rory, a wave of sympathy rushing over her face. She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. Rory glanced down at her, gulping back his emotions.

"I… I never actually became a mage. I am still an apprentice. I didn't want to undergo the Harrowing. My friend… he was called to it. He never returned…" Rory paused, catching his breath. Siofra took his hand in her own in a gesture of comfort. "During the ritual, they say he was too weak… and he was possessed by a demon. The Templars… the bastards cut him down. They did not even give him a chance. I know he would have fought off the demon. I know he would have… They never liked him. They never liked me. I couldn't take that chance. It was either become a mage or die. Or even worse, be made Tranquil."

"Tranquil?"

"Apprentices who refuse to undergo the Harrowing are made Tranquil. Beings who become cut off from all emotion and magic. They might as well be dead. For what good is living without feeling, without emotion?"

"I see." Siofra regarded Rory thoughtfully. That was a horrible fate. Faced with the same options, she would probably do the same.

"Do you think me a coward, now?" Rory asked.

"No. I would have done the same. Nobody should be caged, robbed of living life to its fullest. If I couldn't wander freely in the forest, I would not be me at all. I would run until I could be free. There is much to live for." Siofra smiled shyly at Rory, squeezing his hand. Then she let go, quickly. What was she doing, anyway? Touching a shem? Her father would be furious with her if he ever found out. But he wasn't here, was he? She liked Rory, a lot. He was her friend and she wanted to help him. "These Templars, would they really kill you if they found you?"

"If I resisted being dragged back to the Circle, then yes, they would no doubt kill me." Rory answered with resignation.

"Then I will pray to Mythal that they never find you."

Rory stared at Siofra, full of gratitude. His eyes watered slightly at the thought of her kindness. She was so kind. Did he even deserve her compassion? "Thank you," he said after a moment.

They sat in calm silence for a few moments. Siofra forgot what she had come to tell Rory. Rory had all but calmed down, his anger and frustration soothed by Siofra's presence. The leaves flittered in the wind. Rory lay back and watched the top of the forest canopy. The trees swayed back and forth, revealing tiny bits of the sky. The sky had turned to a deep orange. The shadows in the forest were lengthening.

"I should go." Siofra remarked. She stood up. Rory sat up quickly.

"Wait," he said, standing up quickly to face her. He placed the back of his hand on her cheek. Siofra closed her eyes at the strange touch. She felt his lips tenderly press her own. Siofra panicked and broke free. Blushing, she took flight into the forest, like a frightened doe bolting from a predator.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Tristan sat leaning against a great tree, his eyes closed in thought. He was on his way to Flemeth's hut in the Korcari Wilds but had stopped to rest just outside of the Brecilian Forest. His sword, crafted by Wade out of dragonbone - Vigilance everyone seemed to call it - sat carelessly by his side, forgotten for the moment. His stormchaser gauntlets rested next to the sword. _I made a real mess of things, didn't I? I don't know if Leliana will ever forgive me. I wouldn't blame her if she didn't. _

It was not dark yet, but a chill was beginning to overtake the air, the sun nearing the end of its daily journey. Tristan didn't want to dally. He wanted to reach the old hut as quickly as possible. He decided not to make a fire and not to sleep at all. If this sighting proved to actually be Morrigan, then he didn't want to give her any time to get away.

He thought he heard a faint rustling behind him, followed by an almost silent patter of footsteps. He tensed, suddenly alert, and inwardly cursed that he had just tossed his sword slightly out of reach. As he glanced over to it, he saw a black gloved hand reaching slowly and carefully for the hilt of his sword. He would have to use magic then. He grew a fireball in the palm of his hand.

"Touch that blade, thief, and you will be scorched." Tristan steadily warned. The hand stopped suddenly and was pulled back into the shadows. Tristan sat up quickly, then walked over to his sword and gauntlets and gathered them up.

"Well if it isn't my favorite mage, Tristan Amell," said the voice from the shadows. It was a woman, her voice friendly yet tantalizing to hear. Tristan turned to the shadows, squinting. He could see nothing. He didn't recognize the voice.

"Reveal yourself, so that I might know who speaks of me as if I were their friend yet who just a moment ago tried to rob me," he called out. The woman let out a fiery laugh and then emerged from the shadows with a feline grace.

"Surely you remember me?" she asked as she stepped gingerly towards Tristan. She was striking to look at. She was tall - her green, elf-like eyes level with Tristan's own eyes - and lean though with a hint of power within her sinewy arms and legs. Her skin was pale yet flawless and stood out in stark contrast to her shoulder-length, straight, and raven colored hair. She was wearing black leather armour adorned with red fox fur at the shoulders, matching gloves, and knee-high black leather boots. She carried two daggers at her waist with no effort at their concealment. She smiled alluringly at Tristan. A flicker of recognition flashed through his mind. He did know this woman, though it had been around a decade since he last saw her, when they were both awkward adolescents.

"Brenna?" the name came to his tongue before it came to his mind.

"Ah, so you do remember me?" Brenna teased.

"So it appears." Tristan replied, slightly annoyed. Brenna was trouble. She acted all sweet and caring but the moment you turned your back on her, she acted like the thief in the night that she was, pilfering anything her delicate but swift hands could find. "You're still a thief in the night, I see."

Brenna chuckled. "Now, now, I am only a travelling saleswoman, trying to make a living in this harsh world."

"Right, whatever you say." Tristan sighed, and then muttered under his breath, "Thief." Brenna heard and formed her mouth into a pout.

"I can see you're still angry with me. Surely you should be over it by now. It's been so long and so much has happened. I mean, look at you, you're a hero now…" Brenna touched Tristan lightly on the shoulder and gazed at him seductively. "…a savior. You must have received many trinkets and gifts by now from the grateful citizens of Ferelden…"

Tristan shrugged away from Brenna. By the Maker, he didn't need this right now. He trotted back onto the road and began walking away. Brenna followed. He didn't stop walking however.

"Where are you going?" she asked him.

"It's none of your business." Tristan replied gruffly.

"It's almost dark, shouldn't you be finding shelter?"

"I need to be somewhere." Tristan walked faster, hoping Brenna would go away. But she didn't go away. She walked silently beside him. The sun was barely visible now and the road was getting almost too dark to see. Tristan tripped on a rock, almost falling over if it weren't for Brenna's swift hands catching at his arm and steadying him.

"You need to rest." Brenna chided, kindly. Tristan attempted to brush her off again, but she held on strongly. "Please, come to my home. Stay the night."

"So you can rob me during the night?" Tristan snapped.

Brenna sighed, exasperated. "I promise I will do no such thing. You have my word."

Tristan studied Brenna for a moment. She appeared to be honest and he _was_ rather tired. Deep down inside he knew that if it was Morrigan sighted at Flemeth's hut, she would not be there anymore. If she didn't want to be found, she wouldn't be at her mother's hut. She wasn't stupid. It wouldn't hurt to rest. So reluctantly and warily, he accepted Brenna's invitation.

…

A little while later, Tristan found himself dozing off in a warm and cozy little farmstead. How Brenna came to own this place, he had no idea, but she busily rummaged through the mess of the kitchen trying to find some food. There were so many things in the kitchen he didn't know how she could even store any food there.

"So are those your wares?" he asked her, tiredly eyeing a pile of amulets and rings.

"Yes," she replied from behind a pile of cloaks and armor.

"Dare I ask how you came to collect all these things? Somehow I think I know the answer already." Tristan called out. _Thief_.

"Oh you know. The usual way. Found things here and there, traded some things here and there." Brenna replied. Tristan rolled his eyes. _Yeah, sure, thief._ "Aha! I found some bread."

Brenna came over to where Tristan was seated and broke off half of a dried up bread roll using one of her daggers and handed it to him. Tristan took it. It was hard as a rock. "Uh, thanks."

Brenna shrugged then took a seat across from Tristan. "Sorry. I don't stay here often."

"So this _is_ your home?"

Brenna frowned. "Of course it is."

"Did you steal it from somebody too?" Tristan asked, a little sarcastically.

"No I did not." Brenna retorted. "Look, I am sorry about what happened. It was a long time ago. I was a foolish girl."

"Yet you tried to rob me, again." Tristan pointed out.

"I didn't know it was you."

"Right." Tristan thought back to his last meeting with Brenna. He was an apprentice at the Circle. Brenna was a travelling merchant, allowed to come into the Circle to supply the quartermaster. She was young, but looked much like she did now, a woman in full bloom, so the Templars had allowed her to trade believing her to be older than she was. They had flirted from afar many times, never being able to go any further than that because of the watchful eyes of the Templars. Until one day when Brenna snuck into the apprentice's quarters, surprising Tristan. They had made awkward love, it being the first time for both. Brenna had slipped away quickly after the deed was done. When Tristan noticed, he found his most precious trinket gone as well. "You never came back. You stole my necklace."

"The Templars caught me on my way out. I refused to tell them who I had been with. They didn't let me come back. Surely you knew that?" she explained. Tristan inclined his eyebrow in surprise.

"No, I didn't know that. But you stole my necklace; you never would have come back even if you had not been caught."

Brenna sighed in frustration. "You don't know that. I liked you a lot… besides what was so special about that necklace that you would harbor a grudge against me after all these years?"

"It was the only thing I had of my family…" Tristan looked forlorn and lost. "Never mind, you're right. It is in the past. Besides trying to steal my sword, you have shown me unexpected kindness today. Thank you."

"You're welcome… I think." Brenna watched Tristan struggling to keep his eyes open. She felt terrible about what she had done to him. Stealing things was exciting. She liked to see how much she could get away with. She loved the rush and the exhilaration. Most of all, she liked the profit she made when she sold the things she pilfered. She never did actually sell that necklace though. It was a plain thing, made of string and wooden beads, their color faded. It wasn't worth selling. Instead, she had held onto it all these years. She fingered the pouch at her belt. The necklace was there. She had kept it as a memento, of Tristan. She had never stopped thinking of him. She had tried to go back to the Circle, but they never let her in. And then he had left. Brenna had heard about him becoming a Grey Warden and saving the world.

Brenna had always been a wandering merchant, but during the Blight, Brenna had come home to her mother, Adalia. The darkspawn were everywhere, she had tried to convince her mother to flee, but she refused. She had died of the Blight sickness. Brenna had barely enough time to give her a hasty funeral before the darkspawn overran the farmstead. When she came back last year, the farmstead, though slightly damaged and stripped bare of possessions, was still standing. Brenna had decided to stay, storing all her loot there. Really, she had nowhere else to go. Her mother had been a widow when she gave birth to Brenna. The people from town had never tolerated Brenna. Whenever she went among them, she heard crude whispers of her parentage. Her father was a Dalish elf. She had never met him. Her mother told her he was killed by bandits.

Brenna never expected to see Tristan again, seeing as he was all high and mighty now, yet here he was. Though he was a bit rude, he was as handsome as ever. She wondered what had brought him to the south. Last she heard of him, he was in Amaranthine, the Commander of the Grey Wardens. She gazed at him lustily, musing at the possibility of them lying together again. Tristan had been lanky and awkward when she had known him last. Now he was a man in his prime, solidly built, surprising for a mage. He looked every bit the warrior and hero. Although at the moment, his head was lolling to his side, uncomfortably hitting the shoulder guard of his armor as he slipped into sleep. Brenna sloped over to his side. She pulled at his armor, expecting him to wake up, but he didn't. After a bit of clumsy maneuvering she was able to get it completely off. She placed him in a lying position and draped a blanket over him, and then allowing him to sleep in peace, she crept over to the other side of the room and curled up alone in her own bed.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Siofra sat cross legged on the ground, sorting through the various herbs she had hastily collected early that morning. When she had run away from Rory, she had realized as she stumbled back to her father's aravel that she had forgot to collect any herbs. So she had risen early and crept away to gather them before her father or sister woke up and realized she had not done what she had said she would. Neria sat quietly on a log, weaving a basket.

"You are quiet today." Neria remarked. Usually, Siofra would be happily humming, her voice a soothing melody to those nearby. But Siofra had a lot on her mind. She had tossed and turned all night long, trying to stop her thoughts, until finally she had given up on sleep all together. As hard as she tried, she still could not shut her mind. All she could think of was Rory, and what had passed between them.

Siofra felt like a fool for running away. She had panicked when his lips pressed over hers. She had never kissed anyone before. It felt strange, yet it felt wonderful. She didn't know how to react, so she bolted. She was incredibly embarrassed and she didn't know how she would face Rory again. She didn't know if she wanted to. As she looked to her sister, she realized that she had been fingering the same elfroot for a while now. She didn't know what to say, so she shrugged. Neria rolled her eyes.

"Keep it to yourself then." Neria retorted. Siofra wanted to ask Neria for advice, but she didn't want to give away her secret. She wasn't sure Neria would approve of what was happening. She couldn't take the chance that she would run to their father. Siofra was not at all ignorant of the looks that Neria gave her whenever their father doted on her. If anything, she should be wary of Neria's unwavering curiosity about her long jaunts into the forest. Neria's suspicions were already raised. Before Siofra could say anything, however, Alras appeared besides Neria, throwing himself lazily onto the ground beside her.

Alras and Neria had only lately joined together. Siofra knew he was not Neria's first choice, but their father had prodded Neria to accept Alras. Apparently, Theron thought that Alras was the best Neria would be able to do. Siofra didn't think so. Neria was pretty enough, with her flaming red hair and striking green eyes, and she was a great hearth keeper, but Siofra supposed that Theron was being practical. He didn't particularly like Alras, for Alras spent much of his time travelling to human settlements, trading and gossiping. But since the match, Theron had made a hefty profit by sending Alras along with his ironbark weapons. Usually, Theron would never trade away his weapons to humans, but the land wasn't being as fruitful as it used to be. They needed to trade, and so Alras had suddenly become useful to the clan, whereas before he was merely tolerated.

Alras stretched out his legs and arms, his long, lithe body reminding Siofra of a cat. He wore his dark hair loose and long. His green eyes darted around warily; no doubt he was on the lookout for Theron. When he saw no sign of their father, he relaxed, placing a bag of dried food in front of Neria. "Wife," he said a little sarcastically, "how happy I am to be home."

Neria picked up the bag and looked through it. "That is all you could get?" she asked, forgetting to greet him. Siofra ignored the two, thinking of what she was going to do about Rory.

"Your father's ironbark is a great draw, but alas, the human lands are suffering from the same lack as our own. Many of them do not want to trade with a Dalish." Alras explained.

"Well, I suppose it is better than nothing." Neria sighed.

"Yes it is." Alras rubbed his eyes and stifled a yawn.

"When are we to get our own aravel?" Neria prodded him. Alras closed his eyes in annoyance. She was going to start this again, was she? "I dislike living with my father while I am married."

"When I have enough funds."

"If you were more like Silas, you would have built it with your own two hands, like a proper Dalish elf. No, you have to go running around looking for adventure, trading with shems." Neria nagged. Alras sighed in exasperation and shook his head. How many times did he have to hear this? How many times did he have to hear how grand Silas was? By the gods the Keeper's son rankled him to the bones. Why did he have to be so perfect? He was not even married yet. He had the pick of the clan. And Alras, he was stuck with this nag for a wife.

He glanced at Siofra, sitting quietly on the other side, sorting through herbs. If only he could have had her. But of course, the rumour around the village was that Silas had his eyes on her. _Right, and just a year ago he paid no attention to her whatsoever, even staying far away from her when she sang. How could anyone not love her voice? Now that she has grown up beautifully…_ ah, what was the use of these thoughts anyway? He was a nobody.

"Well wife, I have the opportunity to make a lot of money."

Neria snorted. "Will it be enough to get our own aravel?"

"Oh it will be more than enough." Alras smiled smugly at Neria. Neria looked at him with disbelief. _His silly plans_, she thought, _they never came to fruition._

"And what do you have up your sleeves now? I hope it is not as insane as your last plan." She asked, remembering his ludicrous idea to become a middle man in the smuggling of lyrium. By the gods, he was too much like a flat-ear, he should have been born in an alienage. All he ever wanted to do was make money. And for what? Dalish didn't really need money. They made everything they needed and they grew and hunted everything they needed. But Alras, Alras had no Dalish skills. She wondered what went wrong with his upbringing that he would turn out like this, an embarrassment to his family and to his clan. She wondered, more importantly, what she had done to deserve becoming his wife.

"The Templars," Alras began but was interrupted by Neria's snort. Siofra suddenly perked up at the word, her thoughts interrupted for the moment. "Wife, if you keep snorting like that you will turn into a pig."

Neria waved him off impatiently. "And if you keep being an idiot you will never touch me ever again."

"And then I will be the happiest elf alive." Alras grinned. Neria sucked in her breath, looking like she was about to pummel Alras.

"What about the Templars?" Siofra timidly asked. Neria and Alras both turned to look at her. Siofra tried to keep the worry from her face. She tried to give an air of indifference. It was very hard with her sister gazing at her curiously and fiercely, and her heart pounding nervously in her chest.

"I met up with a small group of Templars. Bunch of bullies I tell you. They singled me out when they noticed I was Dalish. They asked me if I was from the forest. They were looking for an apprentice. They said he was in the forest." Alras explained. Siofra went pale. Her palms began to sweat. She noticed her sister watching her intently. She tried to regain control of herself.

"And, what does this have to do with you?" she managed to ask.

"They said if I would lead them to him, they would give me a reward. A very big reward." Alras replied, grinning broadly. He could almost see the silver in front of his eyes.

"And what did you say?" Siofra asked, unaware that she was ripping apart an elfroot in her anxiousness.

"I didn't have time to reply. A fight broke out and they went to help. But they said before they left that I knew where to find them." Alras looked very pleased with himself. Siofra glanced nervously at Neria, who stared back at her.

"A stupid plan Alras. How can you trust them? If they are too cowardly to come into the forest on their own, then what makes you think they will give you a reward? For all you know they will slit your throat once they find the mage. Or the mage might even kill you. You're better off sticking to your useless trading." Neria chided.

"Ah, now my wife shows some concern for my wellbeing." Alras chuckled.

"Don't get on your high horse; I am merely pointing out to you the flaws of your plan. If you want to take that chance, then by all means do it. I will not suffer much if you never return." Neria reproached. Although she meant to convey bravado at the thought of Alras never returning, there was a slight look of fear tinged with sadness at the thought. Alras did not miss it.

"Do not fret, wifey, I haven't yet decided what to do. The thought did cross my mind that maybe this apprentice is not worth my trouble." Alras replied, sending Neria a reassuring look. Neria shrugged and went back to weaving her basket.

Siofra took the opportunity to quietly sneak away. Neria, however, kept a watchful eye on her disappearance.

…

Rory sat quietly in the ruins, conjuring a ball of fire within his palms and dissolving it just as quickly. He was bored. He was confused. The flame entranced him, kept his mind from replaying the scene over and over again. At least for a little while. He sighed in frustration as it crept back into his mind.

Rory was hurt. He didn't think Siofra would run away from him. His pride was wounded. Maybe he had moved too fast? He had thought Siofra liked him, at least a little. Why else would she keep returning to him day after day? Maker, he had ruined things. It was all going so very well. Now he didn't know if she would return. He didn't know if he should stay here and wait. Perhaps he would wait here for the rest of his life. The thought made him shudder. Who knew how long before the Templars came anyway.

Just as the despair threatened to overwhelm him into shedding unmanly tears for the first time in his life, Rory felt a soft touch timidly creep upon his shoulder. He looked up and there she was, crouching by his side and gazing shyly into his face.

"Siofra," he whispered, afraid if he was too loud she would disappear, proving him to be losing his mind, clutching at apparitions. She smiled.

"Rory," she whispered back. _Good, she is real, I am not losing my mind._ He smiled back. "I am sorry, for yesterday."

"No," Rory shook his head. "Don't be sorry. I am. I shouldn't have…"

It was Siofra's turn to shake her head. Her braid fell over her chest. "It was… nice. I just… I never…"

Rory regarded Siofra with disbelief. "You mean, you never kissed anyone before?"

Siofra nodded, blushing. Rory smiled, amusement dancing in his eyes. "Well, that is hard to believe."

Siofra looked offended. "Why?"

"You are so beautiful." He replied.

Siofra still looked offended, though a bit mollified by the compliment. "So you say. That doesn't mean I go running around kissing everyone…"

Rory laughed. "I would hope not. I'd like to think I am the only one that gets to feel the sweetness of your lips."

Siofra playfully punched Rory in the shoulder, causing him to flinch. "And what makes you think I would give you exclusive rights?"

Rory grinned. "Because earlier you said it was nice."

Siofra blushed. A mischievous glint crept into her sky blue eyes. "I'd have to test out that theory again to be sure…"

That was all Rory needed to hear. His earlier doubts flew out of his mind and he pulled her closer to him, planting a lingering kiss on her lips. This time, Siofra did not break away. In fact, she answered him quite eagerly. A sudden shuffling somewhere in the ruins, however, caused them to break free.

"What was that?" Siofra asked, alarmed. Rory shushed her and they listened quietly for a moment.

"It's probably just a rat." Rory offered. "I hear that all the time."

Siofra wasn't so sure. She was certain it was footsteps. But she let it go, remembering why she had come running here in the first place.

"I have some news." She blurted out.

"Oh?" Rory cocked an eyebrow at her. "Good news, I hope." Siofra shook her head. Rory sighed. "I assume this has to do with me? Out with it then."

"The Templars are getting closer. They have offered a reward to a member of my clan to lead them to you."

"Ha, they _are_ cowards. They can't even follow me into the forest!"

Siofra rolled her eyes, annoyed that Rory wasn't taking this threat seriously. "Rory, please. This is for real. I'm not sure how long this reward can be resisted. My clan does not like working with humans, but things are not going so well in my village and a hefty reward would help a lot."

"Well, let's hope that this hatred of humans continues in your clan, at least in everyone else but you." Rory replied, pulling Siofra close once again. "There's no use in worrying for now. Would you like to test your theory again?"

"Fine." Siofra giggled, and then let herself be swept into Rory's embrace.

…

Outside the ruins, Neria swept cobwebs from her face and fumed inwardly. Her perfect little sister was cavorting with a human, in ancient ruins no less. She wasn't sure what she was going to do with this information. But her suspicions were confirmed. Siofra's jaunts into the forest were for something other than hunting. She had been keeping secrets from them.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Tristan woke up to find himself covered in a blanket with his armor off. He sat up quickly, thinking for a moment that Brenna had done it again, that she had stolen from him during the night. But then he saw his things piled up to his side and all accounted for. He breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps he was too hard on her. It's not like he had never stolen anything before. Although, those days were well behind him as he had many resources available to him now. He figured he was only angry with her because of what she had stolen from him – the necklace. It had been the only thing he had besides his tattoo that he had carried all his life. Well, it didn't matter now anyway. He never thought of his family or where he came from. He had made his own life after all.

Tristan looked around the room for Brenna. He spotted her asleep in a bed in the far corner of the room. Now that he was well rested he could concentrate a little easier. He noticed that Brenna had not really changed much. She was a little fuller, yes, and maybe a little less baby faced, but otherwise she didn't look a year older. Tristan thought of himself ten years ago; he was an awkward, skinny little mage. He wasn't usually vain, but he was thankful that he had grown taller and broader. Otherwise he couldn't see how he could have been able to use a sword. He had the use of magic, yes, but he preferred to fight with his sword. It was a lot less tiring and kept his body in great shape too.

Tristan stretched languidly and then arose from the floor. He crept over to his things and began putting them on. He had to be on his way after all. He kept an eye on Brenna, who never stirred from her slumber. He wondered if he should just leave. No, he couldn't do that. He owed her an apology and his gratitude. When he was fully armed, he quietly approached Brenna. He nudged her in the shoulder but she didn't stir.

"Brenna," he whispered. Still, she didn't budge. He pinched her shoulder this time. She awoke swiftly, grabbed his arm and brought her dagger inches away from his face. Tristan made no motion to move, not wishing to be stabbed in the face. Brenna, though, quickly realized who he was and put the dagger away.

"Sorry. You can never be too cautious when you live alone." Brenna defended her actions.

"Uh, no harm done." Tristan replied. Brenna noticed that Tristan was fully armed.

"Are you leaving?" she asked him. Tristan nodded. Brenna was disappointed, but what could she do? At least he had the decency to wake her before he left. Something she had not done a decade ago. She searched for her pouch.

"Brenna, I want to apologize for my sharp tongue yesterday. You didn't deserve that." Tristan said as she got up from bed and tried to find her pouch. Where did she put it? "I also want to thank you for your kindness. If you ever need anything, just ask and I'll see what I can do."

Brenna continued to search for her pouch, saying nothing to Tristan. Tristan became annoyed. Here he was apologizing and everything and she wasn't even paying any attention to him. "Are you even listening?" he asked her.

"Yes," she replied. Finally, she spotted her pouch and snatched it up. "I accept your apology and you don't owe me anything. If anything, I owe you something." She held up the pouch to Tristan. He looked at her, puzzled. She opened it up and pulled out the stolen necklace. She held it out to Tristan. He seemed surprised at its sudden appearance, a ghost from his past. He hesitated, unsure of what to do. She grabbed his hand and placed the necklace into it. "Take it back." Brenna said.

Tristan studied the necklace. He had almost forgotten what it looked like. It had been the only possession he had as a child in the Denerim orphanage and then in Kinloch Hold. He had always assumed it had belonged to his family. His mother's perhaps? The beads were faded and cracked. He realized that he couldn't take it back. "I can't," he told Brenna, handing it back to her. She took it, her turn to be puzzled.

"Why not?" she asked.

"I've come this far without it. I don't need it." Tristan replied.

"But it belongs to your family." Brenna protested.

"I never had a family. For all I know it was given to me by the chantry."

"You know, I would give anything to have something of my mother's. During the Blight, the darkspawn overran this place and destroyed every one of her possessions. I have nothing left to remember her by." Brenna's green eyes filled with tears that threatened to spill. "What if this belonged to your mother? It looks elven. Maybe it meant something special."

"How do you know it's elven?" Tristan asked.

Brenna hesitated for a second, and then reluctantly explained. "I am a halfling – an elf-blooded human. And though I never knew my father or his people, my mother had in her possession some of his trinkets and they looked similar to this. He was a merchant too, you know."

Tristan regarded Brenna thoughtfully, fingering his chin. "I am sorry to hear about your parents. But… are you suggesting my mother was an elf?"

"Your mother or your father, perhaps. Would it be the worst thing in the world to be a halfling?"

"Of course not. I never knew my mother. I never knew my father. It used to bother me. But it doesn't anymore. I have a new family, the Grey Wardens. If I never learned anything of my past, I would not feel cheated. My mother could have been a barbarian for all I know and it still wouldn't change who I am now." Tristan explained. _This is getting awkward_, he thought. _Time to change the subject, then._ "Keep the necklace. You've kept it all these years, there must have been a reason."

Tristan put a comforting hand on Brenna's shoulder. She swallowed back her emotions and looked up at him. "I kept it for you."

"Then hold onto it a little longer."

"Very well then." Brenna composed herself quickly as she placed the necklace back into her pouch. "You really must go? You cannot stay?"

"I must go."

"That is a shame." Brenna said quietly. Tristan turned to leave. When he reached the doorway, Brenna called out to him. "Wait, I must know, do you yet have a wife?"

Tristan's heart wrenched at the mention of having a wife. He thought of Leliana. He thought of his borrowed time as a Grey Warden. Morrigan and his child flashed through his mind. He turned to look sadly at Brenna. "No, but…"

"Ah, there is someone then." Brenna understood. Tristan nodded. "In any case, till we meet again. May the Maker watch over you, Tristan Amell, Commander of the Grey Wardens."

"Likewise, Brenna – the most beautiful halfling to grace Thedas." Tristan bid, grinning broadly, as he walked out the door. Brenna wasn't one to blush, but she couldn't help herself this time. She had been called beautiful, yes, but that was by men ignorant of her true identity, or by her mother. Otherwise, nobody had ever mentioned the words "halfling" and "beautiful" in the same sentence as her name.

…

Tristan met up with two of Alistair's scouts at the edge of the Korcari Wilds. To his surprise, Melisende's mabari hound, Loki, was with them. At the sight of Tristan, he barked happily, wagged his tail fervently and came charging toward him, leaping onto his shoulders and nearly knocking Tristan over.

"Hey boy, I see you've been put back to work." Tristan patted Loki on the head, forcing the dog back onto four legs, avoiding being licked in the face. He never liked being licked by dogs. Something about it just grossed him out completely.

Meanwhile, the two scouts came over to him, awe on their young faces.

"Told ya it was the Commander of the Grey," one of them gloated to the other. "Look at the way the hound remembers him. And the sword… look at it! It's legendary!"

The other scout glowered, annoyed at being wrong.

"You are the Commander, right?" the enthusiastic scout asked.

"Yes." Tristan replied.

"We were expecting you." The calmer scout stated. "There hasn't been any more movement at the hut, so we were just leaving. We had sent another of our scouts back to Denerim when we first made the sighting. You sure made it here fast."

"Right. I am going to investigate the hut anyway." Tristan continued forward. Loki followed him. The scouts looked quizzically at one another and then made to follow as well. Tristan turned back to his followers. "You don't have to come."

"Are you sure, sir? You might need help."

"No, it's alright. Thank you. I'm off." Tristan continued forward once again. One of the scouts tried to call Loki back, but Loki whined and strutted after Tristan, pawing at his legs. "The hound can come with me." Tristan called to the scouts. The scouts shrugged and then went on their way.

…

Flemeth's hut. It was still standing. Tristan remembered Flemeth warning Morrigan not to be surprised if she came back to a burnt out hut, overrun by darkspawn. Well, that had not happened. And Flemeth herself, Tristan had killed her, at Morrigan's own request. Why did Morrigan have so much power over him? That would end, soon, he vowed as he stumbled into the old hut, the door creaking loudly.

Everything was as he had remembered it. The bed stood in the center of the room, warmed by a fireplace directly across it. Wait a minute, the fireplace. It looked recently used. So, Morrigan probably was or had been here. He made to move toward the fireplace, Loki following closely at his heels.

"Not another step!" came a warning from behind. Tristan turned around to see from whom it came. It was an elf, Dalish from the looks of her tattooed face. "What are you doing here?"

Loki growled menacingly at the elf. He threatened to jump on her.

"Call off your hound, _shem_!" the elf commanded, pointing her longsword at the dog. A Dalish warrior, in Flemeth's hut? Was this the sighting the scouts reported? If so, then Tristan was no closer to finding Morrigan.

"Easy there boy." Tristan crouched down to calm Loki. Loki reluctantly backed down. Arising, Tristan glanced at the elf. "I am here because my scouts thought you were someone else."

"Scouts?" the elf questioned aloud. Now that Loki had backed down, she seemed to decide that Tristan was no threat. She sheathed her sword, and with a thoughtful look on her face, examined Tristan more closely. "So you are here for a purpose? You cannot have mistaken me for Flemeth, so you must be looking for her daughter, the mysterious Morrigan. We have something in common, then. The young witch has caused trouble for my clan. Has she earned your ire as well?"

Tristan wasn't sure how to reply. This was a personal matter. He had no idea who this elf was, but clearly Morrigan had been up to no good, as usual making more enemies than friends. "She's a friend, and I am concerned for her."

The elf looked surprised and even seemed to hold back a laugh. "A friend? Of all the words associated with a Witch of the Wilds, those are the last I expected."

Tristan ran a hand through his hair. This elf was not Morrigan, but perhaps she had been in Morrigan's presence. Maybe she could help Tristan after all.

"Perhaps you can reason with her, then," the elf broke through Tristan's thoughts. "Morrigan stole an ancient book my clan has guarded since the days of Arlathan. We were the only ones with such a piece of our history."

A book? What did Morrigan want with a book? Perhaps it had something to do with magic? "What's so special about this book?" he asked the elf.

"For almost two thousand years, the Dalish people have been wanderers, a shadow of what we once were. This book – as much of a mystery as it is to us – is one of the only clues on how to reclaim that past. My Keeper, Solan, says it was a treatise on something the ancients called 'Eluvian'. The word is as old as the book itself, and its meaning has been lost. Save perhaps to Morrigan," explained the elf.

"Not to be rude here, but how do you know Morrigan stole it?"

"One month ago, she visited our clan in the name of friendship, and took great interest in our history. She knew _exactly_ what she was looking for. The keeper allowed her to see the book. Two nights later, it was gone."

So, this elf had seen Morrigan. Did she have his child with her? The elf hadn't said anything about a child. Where was it? And why did Morrigan want to steal a book from the elves? "So what now?" he asked the elf.

The elf came closer to Tristan, scrutinizing him, lost in her thoughts. Finally, she replied. "Help me. We both want Morrigan, and we can aid each other. The Book of Eluvian was reclaimed for my clan by an elven mage, who stole it from the Circle of Magi before defecting. He said other similar treasures remain in the library, but they would never allow a Dalish to view them. Perhaps you will meet a different reception…"

The Circle Tower? That was the last place he wanted to go, but if it led him closer to Morrigan, to his child, then he would go there a thousand times over. "I used to live there. They will let me, _us_, in."

The elf smiled. "_Ma serannas_, I look forward to working with you."

Tristan grinned back. "Then let us go."

They made their way to the creaky door. Loki growled at it, pawing furiously at the floor, ready to dash out. Tristan felt his senses tingle, the taint in his blood heat up.

"What is his problem?" the elf asked, curiously watching Loki.

"Darkspawn, outside the hut." Tristan replied calmly. In preparation, Tristan unsheathed his sword. The elf copied him. He opened the door and Loki ran out in a frenzy, attacking the first darkspawn to appear. Tristan and the elf followed. Immediately, a trio of darkspawn came toward Tristan, brandishing their garish swords and axes. As he blocked arrows from further out genlocks with his shield, he cast a lightning spell at the trio, which allowed him to cut them down in a few swift movements. Meanwhile, the elf expertly took out the archers with her sword. Loki clawed furiously at a hurlock. The fight was over quickly.

"You fight like the elven warriors of old, a master of both the arcane arts and the sword," the elf remarked, catching her breath and dripping with darkspawn gore.

"And you are one of the most talented Dalish warriors I have ever seen fight." Tristan returned the compliment. The elf blushed at the compliment. "What is your name, by the way?"

"Ariane," she replied, wiping the gore off her sword.

"I am Tristan," he extended his hand toward Ariane. After a slight hesitation, she took it.

"I thought the Blight was over." Ariane mused as she took in the sight of the dead darkspawn around them.

"They are naught but stragglers. There will yet be more like them, but eventually, they will all be taken care of. They are no longer a match for us." Tristan explained.

"For us?" Ariane asked, a little confused.

"The Grey Wardens." Tristan replied.

"Ah, so that is how you knew of their presence. I thought your dog was growling at nothing…"

"Yes, well, Loki does sometimes growl at nothing. You will see."

As if he knew they were talking of him, Loki barked and pranced around. Eager to be on his way, Tristan looked back at the hut one last time before walking away from the Korcari Wilds.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

The summer had quickly changed to autumn. The air was no longer warm but crisp and cool. The leaves of the forest were transforming, then dying, and finally falling to the ground. The days were getting shorter and Siofra was running out of excuses to go into the forest. The late summer berries had all been plucked from the forest, the herbs were out of season, and many of the forest animals were on the run. Still, she found a way to escape to the ruins, to Rory who remained hidden.

This time, Siofra had managed to bring a cloak with her for Rory. At the moment, however, it was being used as a blanket, draped over the cold, stone floor of the ruins. Siofra lay huddled into Rory's side, her cloak covering them only somewhat, for Rory was too tall to be completely covered. Rory twirled a loose strand of Siofra's hair around his finger absentmindedly.

"Winter will be here soon." Siofra remarked. She was worried about Rory. How would he survive the cold? He couldn't exactly build a great fire to warm him, otherwise his presence in the ruins would be revealed. And although the Templars had been slow in coming to the forest, Siofra didn't think Rory would be lucky for long. Maybe they were distracted right now, but they were going to come for him sooner or later.

"Ooh, you know what that means?" Rory jestingly asked.

"Cold, snow, cold, ice, cold, and more snow?" Siofra replied questioningly.

"Cuddle time, and lots of it." Rory said suavely. Siofra shook her head, laughed, and hugged Rory closer to her.

"Are you ever serious?" she asked Rory.

"Once in a while, when there is a need to be serious." Rory replied.

"And you don't think there is a need at this moment?" Siofra probed further. Rory sighed and snuggled up to Siofra, nudging his face in her neck. He said something, but muffled as he was, Siofra could not understand. "What?"

"I said," Rory answered, pulling away from her neck, "that there seems to be no reason to worry about anything for the moment."

"But, but there is. Winter is coming, what are you going to do? You can't stay here in the ruins, you will freeze to death. And the Templars. The gods only know what their delay is, but you can't possibly believe that they have given up on finding you, not after what you told me about how they never give up." Siofra's voice had an edge of panic in it, and her heart beat faster as she contemplated what she was saying. Rory regarded her calmly. It looked to Siofra like she had finally gotten through to him. He must be thinking ahead.

They remained in silence for a few moments. Finally, Rory turned his attention to the stone wall of the ruin to their side. He seemed to be conjuring something up and Siofra momentarily tingled with fear for she had never quite gotten used to the idea of magic. However, her fear turned to nervous excitement as Rory touched the ruins and his finger became aflame. He began to slowly write something out on the wall and then encircled it with the shape of a heart. Curious, Siofra crawled over Rory to view the scorched stone.

"What is it?" she asked. She wasn't sure if she liked it. What if it was some sort of spell? Like the dwarves used to enchant their weapons – runes she thought they were called. She didn't think Rory would use something like that on her, but did she even really know him? She brushed aside her doubts as soon as she saw the smile on his face. She wanted to melt into his arms right then, but she waited patiently for his explanation.

"It is a token, of my…" Rory paused, suddenly bashful. He cleared his throat. "It is a token of my love for you. It says 'Rory loves Siofra'."

Siofra could only bring herself to say, "Oh." She was truly flabbergasted. Love? He loved her? She supposed she shouldn't be that surprised, they had after all, lain together a few times. She was caught off guard, and that was all. The thought that he _loved _her made her feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Rory looked at her apprehensively. Siofra assumed he was wondering if he had done the right thing. And then she knew what to say. "_Ma'arlath_… I love you."

Rory gathered her in his arms and kissed her. "That is all that matters then. The winter will be hard, but I will survive. If the Templars come for me, I will kill them. There is no way I am ever going back to the Circle. There is no way I will ever be parted from you, my love."

Siofra shivered at his words. She wasn't sure if it was because she was cold, or if it was because of something else - the desperation in his voice, the chilling declaration that he would kill to be with her, or because he called her "my love". Whatever the cause, she said a silent prayer to Dirthamen to guard their secret closely.

…

Siofra rushed through the forest, exhilarated. She felt alive. She felt happy. She felt like she should declare her state of being at the top of her lungs, but she refrained from that. That would be stupid for it would give away her secret. Her dirty, sweet, little secret. In any case, she had to get back to the village before her father became suspicious. So she pushed on, restraining herself to wearing a big fat smile on her face.

Her smile, however, was rudely interrupted as she arrived at her father's aravel to find Silas in deep conversation with Theron. Neria and Alras sat quietly by, staring at the flickering fire. Siofra considered creeping into the aravel, but her father noticed her before she could get away.

"_Emm'asha_, come sit by the fire." Theron waved her over. Siofra felt Silas's gaze bore into her as she took a seat next to Neria. She wished she could tell him to look elsewhere, but she couldn't do that with her father there. "Silas has kindly brought us dinner tonight."

Siofra glanced at the fire and noticed a large boar roasting on a spit. Through the fire she could see Silas still watching her. He had a smug look on his face, an air of superiority at his hunting skills. She imagined him boasting, "Yes, that's right, I killed a boar on my own." But he said nothing in the presence of Theron, only nodded and acted humble. Siofra heard Alras mutter under his breath. No doubt he was thinking the same, for Silas and Alras had no love for each other. Siofra couldn't bring herself to say anything to Silas, so she remained silent.

"A very generous gift, given the times and well appreciated by all at this fire. Thank you, Silas." Neria piped in. Alras clenched his fists and tensed up, clearly unhappy with Silas's presence.

"My daughter is right. Times are hard. The game is sparse in the forest. Even Siofra, as great a hunter as she is, has not been as successful as she usually is." Theron added, oblivious to, or maybe ignoring Alras's discomfort.

"Indeed, it was a trial even for myself to track this boar." Silas replied, rather humbly. Alras snorted in disgust but said nothing. Neria gave him a little whack in the arm. "My father is considering moving on."

Siofra became alarmed. Moving on? Her clan had been at this site for most of her life. They had only moved on once only to return quickly.

"That would be wise." Neria commented. _Bootlicker_, Alras thought. He could keep quiet no longer.

"I would make a suggestion." Alras offered. Theron looked annoyed but nodded for him to continue. "Instead of moving on, we should track this missing apprentice. The Templars are offering up a large reward that would keep the whole clan fed for the whole winter."

Silas grunted. "To rely on humans is folly. We Dalish can take care of ourselves, or have you forgotten that, _shem-_lover?"

Alras would have gotten up and punched the self-righteous smirk off the face of the arrogant son of the Keeper, but Theron quickly intervened. "I agree, Silas. We cannot trust the humans. They have too often taken advantage of us. But I also think it is too early to think of moving the clan. We have been here so long, it would be a shame."

Siofra slowly exhaled. She didn't realize that she was holding her breath. Neria shot her a curious look mixed of loathing and pity. "Pray tell, sister, what do you think of the matter?"

Siofra frowned at Neria. She was hoping to remain silent all this time. Theron and Silas waited curiously for her words. She sighed. She would have to say something then. "I believe that we should stay where we are. We shouldn't track down this apprentice, for I believe that he is probably long gone from our forest by now. But that doesn't mean we should forsake any help from humans."

Theron regarded his daughter askance. Silas also looked surprised at her answer. No doubt he was probably expecting her to agree wholeheartedly with him. Alras was surprised, but pleased at her answer. Neria showed no emotion whatsoever.

"A sensible answer." Alras commented.

"A questionable answer more likely. Why would you even suggest we accept any help from humans?" Silas inquired of Siofra.

"It is not as if we are not already trading with them…" Siofra replied. She wished she could slip away from the fire. She didn't want to explain herself to Silas, of all people.

"But what Alras suggested is more than simple trading. It is working with them, doing their dirty work. We shouldn't even be trading with them at all." Silas said, glaring at Alras with disgust. Alras glared back.

"I didn't say we should do what he suggested. I only said that we shouldn't ignore the option to seek help from humans if we needed to. I don't see what the problem is. Would you let a child starve rather than accept a plate of food from a human?" Siofra replied, a little vehemently.

"Yes, I would. Humans are nothing but trouble. They take from us and give nothing back. They treat us like garbage. It is better if we had no contact at all with them." Silas crossed his arms in anger.

"You are a little stubborn, aren't you? Humans have done nothing to me. I refuse to paint them all with the same brush." Siofra snapped back.

"Then you are naïve." Silas retorted. Theron sighed. This was getting out of hand. Alras was pleased with the way Siofra was giving it to Silas.

"You are a blind mule." Siofra shouted in return.

"Enough." Theron boomed. "Daughter, apologize to Silas."

It was Siofra's turn to cross her arms in anger. She sighed loudly. "I will not."

"You will." Theron commanded with composure. Siofra would stand her ground. She was not going to apologize to Silas. He didn't deserve an apology. She had said nothing but the truth. If anything, he should apologize to her. She was _not_ naïve. "Siofra."

Siofra didn't budge. She refused to meet her father's eyes.

"Theron, it is alright. There is no need for her to apologize. She was asked her opinion and gave it. I take no offence at her words." Silas stood up, ready to leave. "I must go anyway. Enjoy your meal."

"_Ma serannas, _Silas. Your generosity knows no bounds. I hope you will come visit again." Theron nodded a goodbye to Silas.

"I most definitely will. Your daughter is very spirited." Silas turned to leave. Siofra continued to look away from her father. Theron got up and walked over to Siofra. He grabbed her gently by the chin and forced her to look at him.

"Perhaps you are not ready for the _vallaslin_ after all." Theron whispered threateningly.

Siofra shook involuntarily. Staring into her father's eyes, she felt fear. What if he could see into her mind? What if he knew what she was hiding? She prayed to Dirthamen to keep her secret. Her eyes watered. "Father," she managed to croak out, "please, I am ready. I am sorry for defying you. I could not apologize to Silas. It was not right."

Theron continued to stare at Siofra. After a long moment he let her go, rose from the ground, and left the fire. Siofra burst into tears. Neria calmly tended to the roasting boar. She made no move to comfort Siofra. It was Alras who came to her side and put a comforting arm around her shoulder.

"You did good Siofra, standing up for yourself. It's a heck of a lot more than I could do. Your father is very intimidating when he is angry." Siofra buried her face into Alras's shoulder and cried. By the gods she hoped her father wasn't serious about the blood ritual. She hoped too that the clan did not move and that, as mean as it sounded in her thoughts, considering the man was the only one to comfort her at the moment, she hoped that Alras would continue to be taken for a fool that nobody would listen to. For Rory's sake.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

"Siofra, daughter of Theron, choose your protector, choose your god, and wear the divine designs for the rest of your life proudly. It is an honour bestowed only upon the Dalish, a gift from the gods, a reminder from the gods of who we are, and a warning to never forget." The Keeper raised Siofra from the ground, clutching at her chin. Siofra had been meditating all day, her stomach rumbling in hunger for she had also fasted. Before meditating, she had purified her body and skin by bathing in the sacred spring. There had been a moment during the purifying when she had feared that her secret would be revealed to all. She was not pure after all. But the gods did not strike her down. She was relieved.

Her father's threats had been empty; the _vallaslin_ had been arranged and carried out as planned. She regarded the Keeper tiredly. She couldn't show any weakness and she all but willed her fatigue and hunger to go away. However, her left foot was tingling and heavy; she had been leaning on it for a few hours. She stealthily shook it awake.

"Who is your chosen god?" the Keeper asked her.

Siofra had thought about it long and hard. She had always intended to dedicate her life to Andruil, the goddess of the hunt, but she wasn't so sure anymore. She had so much to hide she felt that she should choose Dirthamen, the god of secrets. But if she did that, everyone around her would become suspicious. Then she thought, perhaps Mythal, the great Protector would do. But no, it had to be Andruil. Everyone knew how much she loved to hunt. "I dedicate my tattoos to Andruil, the goddess of the hunt, the creator of the _Vir Tanadahl_."

The Keeper nodded and then gathered together the instruments and ink for the tattooing. The ink was made from elements from the forest. It was a secret recipe that only the Dalish knew of. Siofra's heart pounded in excitement and fear. This would hurt. She looked to her father and sister who sat by watching. She would not cry out. She was ready for this.

The Keeper bade her sit down. He traced the designs on her face lightly before applying the "blood". Siofra took a deep breath as the ironbark needle pierced her forehead and ran along the designs. It was painful, but she didn't cry out. It seemed to take forever before the Keeper was finally satisfied with the result and the ritual writing ended. There was one thing left to do. She stood up again, wincing in pain.

"_Vir Assan_; fly straight and do not waver. _Vir Bor'Assan_; bend but never break. _Vir Adahlen_; together we are stronger than the one. We are the last of the elvhenan, and never again shall we submit. This is the Way of Three Trees, _Vir Tanadahl_. Your teachings I will remember. The Ways of the Hunter I shall follow. Andruil bless me on this day and guide me throughout my life. _Ma serannas_." Siofra recited. With the final blessing of the Keeper, the ritual was over. Theron and Neria came to congratulate her. The clan would celebrate her that night.

…

It was a chilly night and though food was scarce, the clan managed to come up with a feast to celebrate Siofra's _vallaslin_. They were warmed by the fires, dancing, and storytelling. Siofra tried to enjoy herself, but her face hurt and all she could think of was Rory. She just had to go see him. She wanted to show him her tattoos.

Neria and Alras sat by her. Neria looked thoughtful and was unusually quiet. Alras, on the other hand, was stuffing his face and seemed to be on his guard. Siofra guessed he didn't want to be around when Theron came by with Silas, for she knew that was coming. She didn't blame Alras. She couldn't stand Silas either. She had to slip away before he came around. Siofra couldn't bear even the thought of being forced to make small talk with him. She looked around her. Everyone was busy doing their own thing. She could slip away for a little while. Though the celebration was in her honor, she had met with most everyone already and nobody would fault her if she left. Maybe she could say she was tired and pretend to go to her father's aravel, and then slip away to the ruins. Yes, she would try that.

"Neria, I am going to sleep," she said as she got to her feet. Neria was startled from her thoughts and stared at Siofra curiously.

"But why? Silas has not yet come." Neria asked.

"Oh Neria, let her go. Don't you remember how painful the ritual can be? And she has been up all day meditating. And who cares about Silas? She can see him tomorrow." Alras intervened.

"I don't think your opinion matters here Alras. Father will be angry." Neria snapped. Alras grunted in annoyance.

"Father will understand. Please, Neria. I am going." Siofra pleaded.

"Fine. Go. But I will not defend you to father." Neria relented.

"I would not ask you to sister. Good night." Siofra made her way to the aravel and climbed in. A few moments later, however, she snuck away into the forest.

…

Neria stood hidden at the edge of the forest. She glimpsed her sister retreating into the shadows of the forest. She scowled in the dark, unable to comprehend Siofra. She was still meeting this human, then. No wonder she had protested against moving the clan and had spoken kindly of humans.

Neria was furious. Siofra was the light of their father's life. She could stand up to father and get away with it. She could insult Silas and he would forgive her. She would throw all this away for a human? And this human, he must be the apprentice mage that Alras kept babbling about. He was dangerous. Perhaps he had even ensnared Siofra with magic. That would serve as a good explanation for Siofra's decisions. But, somehow, Neria knew it wasn't magic. It was real. Siofra was throwing away a perfect life for a _shem_. Neria had struggled these past few weeks on whether or not to go to Theron with what she had witnessed. If she did go to Theron, it would be for Siofra's own good. That is what she kept telling herself.

Neria was startled by the sudden appearance of Theron.

"Neria, where is Siofra? I returned to the fire to find both my daughters had disappeared," he asked her, a puzzled look on his face at Neria's dark look. No, Neria couldn't keep this secret anymore. It was not fair. It was not right.

"Father, there is something you should know."

…

Rory wasn't used to the tattoos on Siofra's face. They were intricate and abstract. She had told him two nights ago that they represented Andruil, the elven goddess of the hunt. The designs were pretty, he had to admit, and after the first shock, he came to appreciate them. They made Siofra even more attractive to look at. They were, however, still a little sore and he had to be gentle with Siofra. She was there with him now, huddled under the cloak.

Rory could sense something was wrong. Siofra was quiet and it was difficult to tempt a smile from her. He wasn't sure if it was the pain on her face or possibly something else. He tried to coax something out of her, but so far, she hadn't budged. He didn't give up that easily, however.

"What is the matter my love?" he asked her. She hugged him tightly. "Are you still worried about winter? About the Templars?"

"I'm not sure. I don't know how to explain, but something does not feel right. This may seem silly to you, but I had a dream…" Siofra attempted to explain her unease.

"A dream?" Rory wasn't sure what to think. Personally, he thought certain types of dreams had a lot of power behind them. "What kind of dream?"

"There was a bear. He was dragged from his winter slumber and killed."

"Oh? Well, who killed the bear?"

"It was in shadow. I couldn't see."

"So that is what has you worried? Your dream of a bear?" Rory was still puzzled.

"It is the meaning behind it. I feel like it is warning me. You see, the bear is beloved of Dirthamen, the god of secrets. When the world was new, Dirthamen gave a secret to every creature to keep. But out of them all, only the bear kept the secret." Siofra explained with worry.

"I see. So you think because the bear was killed, that your secret, being me, will come to light?"

"Something like that. Is it silly?" Siofra asked Rory, clutching at him even tighter. Rory stroked his chin in thought, considering what Siofra told him. Yes, dreams were powerful. But sometimes they were just manifests of a person's deepest fears. Perhaps that was all it was.

"Maybe it is just your fear showing through your dream. It doesn't have to be a premonition of real life." Rory suggested. Still, Siofra looked no less worried.

"But it is not just the dream," she confessed.

"Oh? Please tell me then."

"The day after my _vallaslin_, and today for that matter, my sister would not look me in the eye. I feel like she knows what is happening. And her husband, he left to trade with the humans, but not on his own bidding as is usually the case, but at my father's. I don't know what is going on, but I don't feel safe anymore. I think you should move on."

"Move on? Where?" Rory asked in shock.

"I don't know." Siofra was near tears. This was real then, her fears were real. Suddenly, Rory felt uneasy as well. They had been lucky for too long. Their luck was bound to run out.

"I'm not leaving without you." Rory flatly stated.

"Yes you are," boomed a voice from the shadows. Alarmed, Rory and Siofra scrambled to rise. An orange haired elf came out of the shadows. He had a frightening look of barely restrained anger on his face. Rory's stomach turned to knots and he felt Siofra waver beside him. Her father, then? The elf walked over to the two of them. Without looking at Rory, he grabbed Siofra by the arm and dragged her away from Rory. She cried out in pain.

"No! Let her go!" Rory shouted. He made a move toward the elf, but stopped short when three Templars emerged from the shadows, looks of pure malice and pleasure on their faces.

"Father, please, they will kill him." Siofra sobbed, trying to twist out of his grip. But he held strong. Rory didn't know what to do. He stood his ground and stared at the Templars coming towards him slowly with their swords drawn. He felt the world crashing down on him. So this was it. He was not going down without a fight. He closed his eyes and conjured a fireball in his palm. It was difficult to do. The Templars must be doing something to counter his magic.

"It is not our problem," the elf said and he jerked her towards the shadows. Rory locked eyes with her. She saw what he was up to and she shook her head pleadingly. And then she disappeared. Rory understood what she wanted. She had once told him there was much to live for. He should surrender. He could escape the Circle Tower again. It was not impossible.

The fireball fanned out and he went down on his knees and held his hands up in surrender. The Templars chuckled and sheathed their swords. They tied him up, roughly, and smacked him in the head for good measure. Rory didn't remember anything after that, except for the swelling of anger that built up in the pit of his stomach and an oath of vengeance that formed in his mind.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

It felt like he had never really left. The stone walls still emanated cold, still made everything look dreary and depressing. The quiet halls echoed with nothing but the sounds of soft footsteps, the rustling of robes as they hit the floor, and the hushed whispers of apprentices. The gruff and commanding voices of the Templars, their clunky armor, and heavy footsteps intruded onto the quiet, studious stillness of the mages every once in a while. Their overbearing manner was almost akin to heresy to the perceived serenity of the world of the Circle of Magi.

Tristan found himself feeling amused; amused that he should once again find himself in the tower. He had left it once, only to return to save it from ruin. After that, he thought he would never have to come back again. But here he was again. As he entered the main entranceway, Ariane and Loki following behind, a Templar quickly halted him. Tristan sighed. _Templars_… they always got in his way.

"Welcome to Ferelden's Circle of Magi," the Templar greeted them, surprisingly friendly. "I see you have a Dalish elf with you."

Ah, there it was, the true nature of the Templars. Trust nobody.

"Is that a problem?" Ariane glared at the Templar, offended by his manner.

"Ariane can be trusted." Tristan quickly cut in. Still, it did nothing to mollify Ariane.

"What is that supposed to mean? Most Dalish are common thieves?" she blurted out furiously.

"As you say," the Templar replied, unperturbed by Ariane's anger. Instead, he chose to ignore her. Turning to Tristan, he continued. "The Circle is glad to have you as a guest. As you can see, things are much changed from when you were last here."

Tristan certainly didn't remember this Templar, but then again, there were so many, coming and going all the time. And with their large helmets, more like cauldrons Tristan had liked to tease behind their backs, one wasn't always sure which Templar they were talking with. "And you are?" he asked the Templar.

"My name is Hadley. I lead the Templars in the knight-commander's absence."

"Oh? Where is Greagoir?" Tristan asked curiously.

"He's off at some meeting, in the Free Marches or some place or another." Hadley explained, boredom written all over his face.

Well, at least he didn't have to exchange words with Greagoir. The man was easy enough to get along with, but still, he was a Templar. Tristan got to the point of the matter. "I need to go to the library."

"If you're looking for a book, you can start in the index section. The rest of the circle is off limits to you." Hadley waved them off. "Oh, mind the dog. Good day to you."

As Tristan took his leave of Hadley, Ariane muttered something under her breath. She was clearly still annoyed with Hadley.

"Don't let it bother you. The Templars are always jerks. It must be in their code of conduct." Tristan tried to lighten her mood. It seemed to work as Ariane cracked a slight smile.

As they made their way down the hallway, Tristan noticed a familiar figure standing in the corner by a Templar. "Sandal?"

Sandal looked up at Tristan and with a big smile on his face asked, "enchantment?"

"What are you doing in the tower?" Tristan asked Sandal, surprised to see the young dwarf there. Remembering that Sandal rarely said anything other than "enchantment", Tristan turned to the Templar standing by him.

"The Tranquil are evaluating Sandal's enchanting abilities," the Templar explained nonchalantly.

"And where's Bodahn?"

"Bodahn? Oh, the father. He's in Redcliffe, as far as I know," the Templar shrugged, looking bored.

"Right, anyway, nice seeing you again Sandal." Tristan smiled at Sandal, who did the same. He continued on his way to the library.

"I didn't know people of the stone could do magic." Ariane mused aloud.

"They don't. He's just really good at enchantment, which is something else entirely. Dwarves are great at that sort of thing." Tristan replied.

Making their way into the library, Ariane gazed wondrously at the massive amount of books piled high on shelves standing right up to the ceiling. "Look at all these books, I've never seen so many."

"Books and studying were definitely not high up on my list of favorite things of the Circle." Tristan remarked as he too, gazed at the sheer number of books. They were neat and orderly this time, not like the last time he was here, when the Circle had been overrun by abominations. However were they going to find what they were looking for?

"What _was_ on your list of favorite things?" Ariane asked as she contemplated the same question as Tristan.

Tristan shrugged. "Well, the food was good."

As they made their way to the index section, a number of apprentices stared at them curiously. Ariane watched them all, wary of them it seemed. "This place is like a tomb," she whispered as she nudged closer to Tristan. Loki whined at their side.

"I always thought so myself." Tristan replied. He found the index and began searching through it. He wasn't sure what to look for. He made a note of a few sections to search through. Then, he made his way over to one section of the library and began pulling books out. Ariane and Loki followed him.

"Maybe it would go faster if we split up?" Tristan suggested. They passed a duo of mages, who stared back at them. Their words were loud enough to comprehend.

"An elf!" one of them pointed at Ariane. "I hear they cut out your eyes for staring at their tattoos!"

"Where'd you hear that?" the other asked.

"I read it somewhere."

"You believe everything you read?"

"Better to be safe than sorry."

Ariane shook her head. "No, I'd rather stay by you. These ignorant mages would be safer that way because right now I am tempted…" she clutched at her sword hilt.

Tristan chuckled. "Pay them no heed. Like you said, they are ignorant, having seen nothing but the Circle their whole lives." A piece of paper fell out of one of the books he was clutching. He bent down to pick it up and unfolded it. It was a sheet of notes, written by an apprentice. Some scribbles in the margins revealed a sketch of Templars being eaten by a tiger, with the words "Ser-Pounce-a-Lot" under the tiger. Tristan burst out laughing. The apprentices looked at him with annoyance.

"What is it?" Ariane whispered.

"Nothing," he replied. It was only proof of Anders having lived at the Circle. He wished that he had known Anders when he was at the Circle. They certainly would have had a lot of fun. He wondered how Anders was handling the management of the Keep and the Wardens. He wondered how they were all doing. They were fine, he had no doubt. There were, after all, no major problems to deal with anymore.

Having exhausted the search in that section, Tristan moved on to the next section he had marked down. He found an old book called "A Catalogue of Elven Relics" and pulled it out. It was very dusty. Instead of blowing the dust off of it he bent down over Loki and rubbed it over him, the dust catching on Loki's coat. Loki whined. "Sorry boy." Tristan said. Loki wandered away to a table and shook the dust off there. The apprentices sitting there cursed and sneezed. Meanwhile, Tristan opened up the book. The writing was alien to him.

"I recognize the character on this page!" Ariane said, grabbing the book out of Tristan's hands. "I think it makes up part of the word 'Eluvian'!"

"Is this elvish?" Tristan asked her.

"I… think so. The script is strange, but it must be. This is a library isn't it? Perhaps another book could help us translate this."

They moved on to another section of the library. After searching through various shelves, Tristan finally found one that could help them. "_Translating Elven Languages_. This should help," he remarked as he strolled over to a table and dropped both books onto it, sighing. "Though it will take a while to translate everything."

Loki followed over, drooling a little bit on the floor.

"Woah, who let a dog in here? And what are you doing? Be careful!" cried out one of the mages behind Tristan.

Annoyed, and a little impatient now, Tristan turned his head around to speak to the mage. "You're in my light," he gruffly replied.

The mage, suddenly nervous as he took in the sight of Tristan and Ariane, took a step back. "You… look… er… like you could probably squash me like a gnat, but I can't just sit by while you mishandle innocent tomes! You're bending the book too much! It'll crack the spine and cause the pages to fall out!"

"Look, I'm in the middle of something important." Tristan glared at the mage.

"Wait… I know you. You're… the Grey Warden mage. The hero!" the mage realized. However, instead of the usual look of wonder this realization usually caused people, the mage bunched his brow together in disapproval. "This is even worse. Didn't they teach you proper care of antique volumes in the first year? Maker! People save the country and suddenly they think they can abuse priceless books all willy-nilly."

Ariane looked to Tristan in surprise. So, she hadn't realized that he was _the hero_. A shame, really, he rather liked being just another Grey Warden. He sighed in impatience and clutched his head. He could feel another headache coming on. "Did I mention already that I am in the middle of something important?"

"Hmm…" the mage walked over to the other side of the table and glanced at what Tristan was reading. "Browsing the chapter on the Eluvians? No one's actually found one, you know."

"You know what Eluvian is?" Ariane asked the mage.

"Its old elvish for 'seeing glass', mirror," the mage replied, rather smugly.

"What else do you know about this?" Tristan demanded of the mage. Maybe this smartass would be useful to them. Maybe he could save them a lot of time and effort.

"Eluvian isn't just any mirror, it's a special kind. When the Imperium sacked Arlathan, they took these mirrors and tried to unlock their power. But all they could use them for was communication, over long distances."

What would Morrigan want with one of those? "There must be something else," he prodded the mage.

"Well… no one's ever seen a mirror like this. They could be something the Tevinters cooked up, for all we know." The mage shrugged. Ariane, however, looked very thoughtful.

"Hmmm…. My people crossed paths with another Dalish clan not too long ago. Two of their young hunters encountered a strange mirror in some ruins. One disappeared; the other became deathly ill. They never found the one, and the other died. They left Ferelden, and traveled north to forget their sorrows. At least, that is what was told to us." Ariane explained.

"What about the mirror?" Tristan asked.

"Shattered. Destroyed." Ariane replied.

The mage gasped out loud, horrified at the notion of an ancient relic being destroyed. "Why?"

"It was… corrupted by the darkspawn, beyond hope of recovery. They did it to protect others." Ariane replied, a little defensively.

"Even broken, it could be used to find the others." The mage's excitement showed on his face. "No, don't get ahead of yourself, Finn, you have to be sure."

"What? What do you know?" Ariane demanded of him.

"This is so exciting! We have to get to the repository. Hadley has the key." The mage, Finn, Tristan supposed he was called, since that was what he had referred to himself, in the third person, a moment ago, looked at Tristan expectantly. Well, this Finn seemed to know a lot about Eluvian. It wouldn't hurt to indulge the guy, he supposed. Tristan arose from his seat and bid Finn lead the way.

…

Back at the entranceway, Finn ran over to Hadley, excited and out of breath. Tristan, Ariane, and Loki followed.

"Hadley! Just the man I was looking for." Finn exclaimed.

"Not looking very hard, were you? I'm always here." Hadley retorted. He seemed a bit annoyed by Finn. Perhaps this wasn't such a good idea, Tristan found himself thinking. Maybe Finn was… not right in the head. Who else gets this excited over… relics?

Finn chuckled. "Good one. So I… eh… need to go into the repository."

"No." Hadley firmly replied.

"No? Why not? I'm not some drooling apprentice." Finn looked offended.

"It's because of me, isn't it?" Ariane piped in. _Maker,_ Tristan thought to himself, _would Ariane assume that every time something didn't go their way? Elves, they were so… frustrating sometimes._ His head began to throb painfully.

"No." Hadley replied. "The sentinels have been behaving erratically, so the repository is locked for everyone's safety."

"Oh." Finn looked terribly disappointed. "Well then…er… sorry for bothering you."

"You're giving up, just like that?" Tristan chastised Finn. The mage had piqued his curiousity. He was not leaving the tower without finding out more about the Eluvian.

"Well, look at the way he's staring at me." Finn defended himself. Hadley was glaring at Finn, but it was more of an annoyed look of impatience then one of impending violence.

Tristan turned to Hadley. "Just give us the key. I can look after myself."

Hadley sighed, but handed over the key anyway. "Very well, it's your necks. But before you go, what's so important down there?"

"The statue." Finn replied. "It knows things about Tevinter, and I need to speak to it."

Hadley shook his head. He never understood this mage. Talking to statues, imagine that! What a nutcase. "All right. Be careful, and keep the mess to a minimum."

Ariane obviously thought the same thing that Hadley did. "Talking to inanimate objects is a sign of insanity."

"Not if it talks back." Finn replied.

"You think it talks?" she asked him, incredulously.

"You'll see."

…

The four of them made their way into the dark and dreary basements of the mage tower. It was even more bleak and depressing down here than upstairs. Ariane shivered at the eeriness of it all. The stone walls seemed to close in on her, the cobwebs catching at her hair and her eyes. She couldn't wait to get out of here.

Tristan had a sense of déjà vu. It was these very basements that had set him on his path to becoming a hero. He had come with Jowan and Jowan's girl, Lily, down here to search for Jowan's phylactery. They were going to break it and Jowan and Lily, a chantry girl, were going to escape. Tristan had had a moment where he thought of breaking his own and fleeing with them. But he had just passed the Harrowing. He hadn't wanted to let the First Enchanter down. That was what ended up happening anyway, as they were caught on the way up. Jowan was a blood mage. He had managed to escape, leaving his girl and Tristan behind to face the consequences. If Duncan hadn't been at the tower, then Tristan would have… well he had been there and Tristan had become a Grey Warden.

As the four of them reached the lower chamber, the stone Sentinels came alive. They were vicious, running towards them attempting the only thing they were programmed to do – kill intruding mages. Tristan easily fought them off, using magic and his sword. Ariane took several powerful swings, knocking a few down. Finn, surprisingly, managed to stop a few also, though he complained of ruining his robes. Loki had no problems, though he did get knocked over once, but that sent him into a blood frenzy.

They made their way into the repository, the old Tevinter statue standing quietly among other relics of the past.

"The prison is breached. I see the encroaching darkness." The statue said. Ariane flinched in surprise. Loki barked uselessly at it.

"Wow, it does talk." Ariane stated.

"Hello?" Finn went up to the statue.

"The… shadow will consume all…"

Tristan remembered this statue. It had annoyed him the last time and it was annoying him now. "Oh, _this_ statue," he muttered.

"A hunger, a cage, a yawning void… help me…" the statue cried out.

"Something is causing it distress." Finn suggested. "The tears in the Veil, most likely. The statue's useless until we mend the Veil."

So they travelled through the basements, fighting off the sentinels who had gone crazy. They found the tears in the Veil and mended them by slashing and hacking at them until they were no more. When they were exhausted and sure that they had fought off all the sentinels and mended all the Veils, they returned to the repository. The statue seemed to be normal again, if one could say that of a statue. Finn went up to it.

"I am the spirit of Eleni Zinovia, once consort and…" the statue began to say.

"Advisor to Archon Valerius, blah, blah, fall of the house. Yes, we've been through that." Finn interrupted, impatient now himself.

"Finn… greetings." The statue replied.

"I remember this statue." Tristan remarked.

"Oh yes… you were here, weren't you? With Jowan. Some of the apprentices now use his name to describe dangerous schemes with little chance of success. Technically a misnomer, since he made it out of the tower alive…" Finn rambled.

"The statue. Focus." Tristan said hastily.

"Oh, right. Back to the statue. It's hard to get answers out of it – requires parsing all the grandiose mumbo-jumbo." Finn explained. He turned back to the statue. "We know where a broken Eluvian lies. Can it still be used to find the others?"

"Scry. The broken glass, dagger-sharp, will be your key." The statue replied cryptically.

"I once studied scrying." Tristan mentioned. That had been no fun at all.

"We all did. I thought it pointless, myself." Finn replied.

"The lights of Arlathan will illuminate the scryer's path; just as the dwarves of Cad'halash helped the elves of Arlathan flee and hide from the Imperium."

"Can we trust this thing?" Tristan asked, not really comprehending the statue.

"It doesn't lie. Well, I don't think it can." Finn shrugged.

"She mentioned the children of the Stone. I had not realized the durgen'len once aided my people when they fled." Ariane said.

"Deep halls of Cad'halash… must mean a dwarven thaig." Finn deduced.

"Cadash Thaig? Impossible, it's not that old." Tristan said, having been there before. It was hard to believe it had been there at the time of Arlathan.

"So you know of it? Convenient." Finn replied. He turned back to the statue.

"Goodbye Finn. We will not speak again."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Finn worriedly asked. But the statue said nothing else. Tristan and Ariane left, Loki loping after them. Finn quickly followed them out of the basement.

…

Once they were out of the basement, Ariane confronted Finn.

"Now mage, tells us what's going on. No more smart talk."

"There are many Eluvians, linked together. Find one and you can find the others. But the one you know of is broken and corrupted. So we need to find something else to… amplify the magic." Finn explained.

"The lights of Arlathan?" Ariane asked him.

"Yes." Finn answered.

Tristan took this all in thoughtfully. So, Morrigan wanted one of these mirrors? What for? It was all very strange. Finn knew a lot of things. If only he could take the mage with him. Perhaps then, being the hero of Ferelden had its advantages. He would demand Hadley let Finn come with them. "Will you come with us, Finn?"

Surprised, but enthusiastic, Finn said what Tristan wanted to hear. "Ready to go when you are."


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

There was a light dusting of snow on the ground, blanketing the forest in a carpet of bright white. A few snowflakes careened down from the sky, waving to and fro until finally coming to rest onto the ground, losing their unique patterns as they became absorbed into the uniform carpet of snow. A small amount of the flakes found themselves sticking into a long golden braid of hair and then melting. Siofra sat under a medium sized tree, feeling numb, not from the cold, but from what had happened over two weeks ago.

Siofra had been coming to sit under this tree every day now. It was a special tree, planted over the remains of her mother. The mother she never knew in life, yet she would still come to talk to every now and then when things got tough. And things were getting tough. She had not been allowed to go into the forest. Her father permitted her to come only this far. It was a small mercy, but an appreciative one nonetheless. The clan assumed that Siofra had been the one to hunt down Rory for the Templars' reward, which proved to be no big sum at all. Only Theron and Neria knew the truth of the matter. In fact, when she thought further on this small mercy, she realized that her father permitted her to come this far in the forest only because if he didn't, the rest of the clan would get suspicious. Theron didn't want that. He didn't want the rest of the clan to know his shame at his daughter, his beloved Siofra.

Siofra was emotionless. She couldn't feel anything. She didn't care that she had caused her father shame. She only cared that Rory was gone. She couldn't bring herself to worry about him for fear that she would drive herself mad. She couldn't do anything, she felt so helpless and powerless. She wondered how Theron had found out about her and Rory. She had been so careful. But it didn't matter, he had found out, and now there was nothing she could do. She couldn't even bring herself to curse Dirthamen for not keeping her secret.

A single tear trickled down her cheek and fell to the cold, hard ground. She shivered and brought her cloak tighter around her. _At least Rory won't be cold_. Siofra had worried how Rory would have gotten through the winter. At least now he was warm. This single thought undid her. She burst into tears after holding them in for so long. She hugged her knees to her body and hid her face into her hands. She suddenly couldn't breathe as a wave of panic overcame her. She sobbed. She was scared. She thought of her mother dying after giving birth to her. And then she thought of the life growing inside of her. She sobbed some more.

Neria appeared at the edge of the grave. She had followed Siofra here every day as Theron had instructed. And every day she watched her sister stare into the forest with a blank look on her face. But today, she watched her sister finally break down. The scene before her wrenched her heart. Neria had thought that it would be easy to go on living as if nothing had ever happened, but it wasn't easy. She hadn't told Siofra that it was her that was the betrayer. She didn't think she ever would. Now as she watched her sister become a ghost of what she once was, she regretted ever telling Theron about the human. She had been jealous. She had tried to convince herself that it was for Siofra's good. But it had been a terrible mistake. She had to make it right somehow. However, that didn't mean that she was going to fess up anytime soon. Instead, she quietly walked over to Siofra and put a comforting hand on her shoulder. Siofra looked up, realized Neria was there and sobbed onto Neria's shoulder. Neria pulled her into an embrace.

"Oh, Neria…" Siofra sobbed. Neria shushed her and gently patted Siofra's braid.

"You really did love that human." Neria softly pondered.

Siofra looked up at Neria, a painful look on her face. "He had, he _has_ a name… Rory." Siofra furiously wiped the tears from her face with the back of her hand. "And yes, I love him. He loves me. Is that so bad?"

Neria clicked her tongue in remonstration. "Sister, you know how our clan is. Of course it was bad."

"So my love is an evil thing?" Siofra angrily retorted. She removed herself from Neria's embrace.

"That is not what I said. I apologize. Love… I know not what to say of the feeling. I have never loved anyone with all my heart." Neria said sadly. Siofra looked pityingly upon her older sister.

"You do not love Alras at all?" she asked Neria.

Neria shook her head. "I… he's just there. I neither hate him nor love him. Sister, we should go back to the village."

Siofra moved further away from Neria and crossed her arms over her chest in a gesture of defiance. "No."

"It is very cold. You will get a chill." Neria prodded.

"No. I cannot go back." Siofra stood her ground.

"You must."

"No. I cannot."

"Look, I can see you are hurting. And honestly, I am glad to see you are finally showing some emotion. I was frightened to see you so blank these past few days. But we have to get back." Neria remarked, trying to lure Siofra back to her.

"You don't understand."

"Understand what?" Neria was puzzled. Why wouldn't she just come with her? Why was she being so stubborn? Siofra sighed. She let her hand rest gently on her stomach. Neria's gaze followed Siofra's hand. "Siofra, what?"

And then she realized what Siofra was trying to tell her. She was with child. The horror of the realization must have shown starkly on her face, for Siofra suddenly backed away in panic.

"Sister, you are with child? From the human?" Neria anxiously asked, her own panic rising into her throat, making her sound like a croaking frog. Siofra nodded. "By the gods. Father will kill you…"

Siofra began to cry again. Neria looked on her pityingly. Although Siofra had recently gotten her tattoos, she was barely out of childhood. Having a human's baby might just kill her, for it would look just like a human, size included, and that man, Rory, he was tall. And their mother… she had died from the childbirth sickness. Siofra was the spitting image of their mother, but that didn't mean she would succumb to the same fate, did it? Neria cursed, her usual sense of calm dissipating in the rising tide of panic.

"You must rid yourself of this baby. There are herbs…" Neria began to suggest, but was interrupted by a sharp refusal by Siofra, who clutched at her belly as if to shield it from her sister.

"No! I will not. I cannot."

Neria laughed nervously. "Then what are you going to do? You cannot hide a growing belly. You cannot give birth to a human baby in the village. Everyone will know what you did!"

"I am a prisoner. I can no longer wander freely. What good is there here for me? For the baby growing inside of me? I must leave. I must get to Rory somehow." Siofra replied. Her tears had dried out as she fought for control over her emotions.

"You cannot just leave!" Neria threw her hands up in supplication.

"I must. You can help me Neria. You can get me out of here." Siofra begged.

"And lie to father?"

"It is better if he never knows about my condition…" Siofra suggested.

"So you will leave forever?"

"No… I don't know. I need to see Rory. He will know what to do."

Neria laughed apprehensively. "You think _he_ will help you? Have you forgotten where he is? The Circle is not exactly welcoming of outsiders."

Siofra stared off into the forest thoughtfully while Neria fretted, walking back and forth in front of their mother's grave in a nervous fright. "This is not good. This is _not good_. What are we going to do?" Neria rambled. _Alras_, she thought, _he will know what to do. He can take Siofra away and hide her. He knows the outside world better than anyone._

Neria composed herself, walked calmly over to Siofra and laid a gentle and reassuring hand on her shoulder. "I am crazy, but I will help you. I know what to do."

Siofra, full of gratitude, threw her arms around Neria and hugged her fiercely. "Thank you, sister. I knew you would help me."

Neria felt a prickle of guilt tug at her conscience. This was the least she could do for her sister. It might not ease her pain at the betrayal she had caused, but it was a start.

…

Alras couldn't believe what he was about to do. Theron would skewer and roast him like a boar if he ever found out. But he couldn't refuse Neria, not after what she had told him. Alras had thought, like everyone else in the clan, that Siofra had tracked and hunted down the missing apprentice. He had thought that Siofra returned the young man to the Templars for the measly reward that he had boasted would be big enough to keep the whole clan fed through winter. However, he was mistaken. He felt like an insensitive idiot now for patting her on the back and congratulating her that long ago day. Really, how blind could he have been? She was miserable now that he thought back to that day. She had looked like she was going to shrivel up and die. Moreover, he felt like a jerk for fetching the Templars. He was, after all, a romantic at heart, even if his own love life wasn't so rosy. Siofra in love, with a human, tugged at his heart strings. Alras had to admit, he never expected Siofra to have hidden something this big from everyone.

Alras was resting by the road at the edge of the forest. He had with him a bag of Theron's ironbark weapons he was going to bring to town to trade. And Neria was there, too. She stood anxiously opposite him, pacing to and fro every once in a while. Alras patiently chewed on a bit of jerky and pulled his cloak tighter around him to fight off the frigid wind. He also wanted to hide from Neria, but that was impossible to do in her current state of agitation. Why did he agree to this again? Oh, right, Siofra was going to have a human's baby and Theron would kill her if he found out. He couldn't let that happen. Technically, this baby would make him an uncle. He smiled at the thought. Neria snorted in frustration.

"Alras, what are you smiling about?" she frantically asked him.

"Nothing, wifey," he replied, a little sarcastically and with a grin covering his face from pointy ear to pointy ear. He really didn't feel like chatting with her. He knew she would just snort some more if he mentioned them becoming aunt and uncle.

"She's late. What if she didn't make it?" Neria stared off into the forest. They were supposed to meet up with Siofra. The plan was this: Alras was going to go off on one of his trading trips, Siofra was going to meet up with him a day later, so as not to arouse Theron's suspicions and so he wouldn't link Siofra to Alras when he discovered her missing, and then Alras would bring Siofra to a friend's farmstead. That _was_ the plan. Neria had insisted on coming with Alras, which had complicated things a little because Theron had nearly forbidden her. But Neria had insisted and eventually got her way. Now they just had to be patient while Siofra hopefully made a stealthy escape from Theron's watchful eye. _If Theron ever found out the part I am playing in this… _Alras thought, shivering involuntarily at an image of Theron brandishing an ironbark sword towards him. _Siofra is the apple of his eye_.

Alras wasn't even sure if his friend would take Siofra in. He wanted to believe she would. Adalia was a kindhearted widow. He didn't know her too well, as he only ever did business with her husband, who was dead now. So maybe he had stretched the truth a little when he told Neria that he had a "friend" who might help. He hoped that Adalia wouldn't turn them back because he had no further plans if this one went awry. It was flattering that Neria had come to him for help, but it also put a lot more pressure on him then he was used to. Certainly it was more to live up to then building an aravel, which he never intended to do on his own anyway.

…

Siofra stood at the edge of the forest, rooted to the ground like she was just another tree. She was unsure of what she was doing. She had never thought of leaving her clan, of leaving this forest. Somewhere deep inside of herself, she knew she had to do it. If her baby were to have any chance, she had to leave. It didn't matter how she felt. The only thing that mattered was having this baby and then getting back to Rory. With that in mind, she stepped forward towards the road ahead, and with a single tear drop rolling down her cheek, she didn't look back.

…

It was a cozy looking farmstead and far enough from the main highway to nestle a den of secrets. Neria wondered, however, if it would be safe. This friend of Alras, she was a widow, would she be able to defend Siofra from harm? Neria had an image in her head of a grey haired, bent over, old woman who walked with a cane and a limp. But as they neared the farmstead and Alras bade her and Siofra to hang back for a moment, she glimpsed quite the opposite. The woman was far away, but she clearly was not old and she stood as straight and tall as a spear. Her hair was covered with a wimple, so Neria couldn't really tell if it was grey. As the woman strutted over to Alras, Neria thought that perhaps this wasn't the widow after all, but the widow's daughter. At any case, she stood back on the path with Siofra, giving her sister a side hug for support.

Alras, meanwhile, went over to Adalia, his stomach in knots and his hands sweaty. _By the gods above, what will I do if she says no?_ he wondered to himself. It was snowing heavily now and the cold wind burned his cheeks raw and froze the inside of his nose and the tips of his ears. He was thoroughly uncomfortable at the moment with the cold, the anxiety, and the fear of failure washing over his senses.

"Alras? Is that you?" Adalia asked as she met him halfway between the farmstead and the huddling Neria and Siofra. Alras had not expected to find her outside, but here she was.

He nodded, shivered, and through chattering teeth was able to reply, "Yes, it is. Greetings, Adalia. I hope you are well?"

Adalia regarded him quizzically, her big brown eyes showing concern for Alras. "I am well, thank you, but you, what are you doing outside, in this weather? I must admit, I was not expecting you… you have never come to my home before… is something wrong?"

"Well," Alras cracked his knuckles in thought. He didn't quite know what to say. He probably should have rehearsed on the way here, but all he could think of during that time was what to do if this didn't work out. He might as well have jinxed his chances that this plan would work by thinking of the next plan, but Alras never was an eternal optimist. He may seem like one on the outside, but he knew who he really was. And it definitely wasn't _that_. "There is something…"

"Please, come inside. This is no weather to stand around and chat in." Adalia insisted, touching his arm lightly.

"I couldn't go in, unless…" Alras gazed behind him towards Neria and Siofra. Adalia glanced in their direction.

"Family?" Adalia asked, rhetorically, for she quickly continued, "They may come inside too. Come now, right away, before you all get frostbitten." She waved enthusiastically at Neria and Siofra while clutching at Alras's shoulder. Alras nodded at Neria and Siofra.

"Thank you, Adalia." Alras whispered as Neria and Siofra shuffled through the quickly accumulating snow towards them. Perhaps this was a good sign? Then again, Alras had told many tales of humans inviting elves into their homes only to butcher them into tiny little pieces and then feed them to their mabari hounds. Of course, that was fiction, created to scare the children. This, this was real. Reality was a lot less frightening than fiction, most of the time.

…

Adalia wouldn't let him say anything until he and the girls were seated comfortably in front of the fireplace. _Just as well, _Alras thought, _because I must defrost my limbs before I can even think straight._ Siofra certainly looked grateful to be in the warmth once again, though she did look a little uncomfortable at being indoors. _That makes sense; she's probably never been in a proper house before._ Neria, on the other hand, was glaring at him, a look of silent fury on her face. _Gods, what did I do now?_

"There now, I hope you are all warming your bones just fine now." Adalia said as she joined them in front of the fireplace.

"Yes, thank you." Alras replied. Adalia turned her attention to the girls and they in turn nodded their agreement with Alras.

"Good. Alras, are you going to introduce me?" Adalia asked teasingly.

Alras sat up straighter and rubbed his hands together. "Of course. This is Neria and her sister Siofra."

"Pleased to meet you, Neria and Siofra." Adalia kindly said, offering her hand to the two.

"I am his wife." Neria sternly said, refusing to take Adalia's hand. She glared in turn at Alras, who shrugged behind Adalia's back. Siofra, though, took Adalia's hand and returned the greeting.

Adalia, unperturbed by Neria's cool demeanor, continued to smile and act the gracious hostess. She questioned Alras about his business and asked the usual polite questions. Alras, in turn, responded with a whole lot of elaboration and detail. Neria was getting terribly impatient. Siofra, in the meantime, looked aloof, alone in her thoughts and far away from the rest of them.

"Alras!" Neria finally hissed, interrupting Adalia and Alras. She motioned him to get to the point with her hands.

"Oh, yes. The reason we are here…" he quickly began, not wishing to further Neria's growing wrath. His anxiety, which had disappeared during his conversation with Adalia, had returned yet again. He pushed it as far back in his mind as he could and decided to just be blunt about the situation. Unknowingly brushing through his long hair, he began, "Well, to make a long story short, Siofra here is with child. The father is a human, recently an apostate, but returned to the circle tower now."

Adalia looked sympathetically at Siofra, who continued to stare off into space. Well, that was a good sign, wasn't it? At least Adalia didn't look disgusted.

"Oh. So why did you come here?" Adalia probed further.

"We need a favour of you…" Alras said, tugging at his hair again and then cracking his knuckles. Adalia unconsciously winced at the cracking sound the bones emitted.

"Go on…" Adalia encouraged.

"You see, if Siofra's father found out she was with child from a human, he would go berserk. I can't say that he would kill her, but I can't say that he would be merciful to her or the child. So, we thought it better not to take any chances, and to get Siofra away. She won't give up this child, though there are ways…" Alras explained. Adalia watched him intently, never taking her eyes off of him. "So, we were hoping that Siofra could stay here… for a little while."

Adalia turned her gaze to Siofra. She seemed to consider what was asked of her for a very long time. But after only a few minutes, she turned her gaze back to Alras and gave him her answer. "I see. A child is a precious thing and should never be punished for something it had no control over, like being conceived. If Siofra can make herself useful to me while carrying this child, she may stay here for as long as she likes. I am sympathetic and not without charity, but Maker forgive me, I cannot afford to feed two extra mouths without some help."

"My sister is a not a slave." Neria blurted out.

"I don't think that is what she meant…" Alras quickly intervened.

"No, that is not what I meant. I only meant that she should earn her stay." Adalia defended herself.

"I will." Siofra finally chirped up. "I will help you with anything you need. I will do anything you ask of me. I only ask that when my time comes to bring this baby into the world, that you will not abandon me, for I know nothing of the art of birthing."

"You needn't worry. I have helped on many occasions, though I have never had the privilege to go through it myself." Adalia reassured Siofra.

"Adalia, I will bring provisions for Siofra, you needn't worry about having to feed her." Alras suggested. He would have to travel more than usual, but he didn't mind.

"Then it is settled. Siofra may stay here for as long as she likes." Adalia agreed. Alras breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn't going to have to come up with another plan after all.

…

Later, on the way back to the forest, Neria found herself fuming in anger. Alras had no clue why she was so angry and made no move to ask her. If she wanted him to know she would open up sooner or later.

Neria was jealous – of Adalia. A human. The way the widow, the young and beautiful widow, had looked at Alras, blushing under his gaze. Oh, Neria didn't like that. She didn't like that Alras would be seeing a lot more of this woman in the coming months. Mostly, she was angry that she was having these feelings. She had thought that she didn't much care for her husband, but the truth of the matter was coming out, she did care for him. He was a crazy, lazy, and sarcastic fool, but he was hers. She should be the only one to look at him like _that_. The silly fool probably hadn't even realized the looks Adalia was giving him were flirtatious. That, at least, provided Neria with some comfort.

_Now,_ Alras thought, _how to deal with the inevitable wrath of Theron. _Theron would no doubt wonder where Siofra had gone off to. He might even connect her disappearance to Alras and Neria. Perhaps the best way to deflect suspicion from them was to continue acting the fool. _Yes, I am good at that. Shrug and look stupid. That is the easiest way out of any mess._

…

Siofra hadn't realized how hard it would be to say goodbye to her sister and Alras. It was beginning to dawn on her how much she had left behind. She had left the only world she had ever known, the only people she had ever known, and was now in a place she never fathomed. Being inside, under a roof, was making her uneasy. At least in the ruins there were trees growing within. Here, the whole structure was made of dead wood. It gave her the shivers. But she tried her best to do the things Adalia asked of her, though it wasn't much, seeing as there wasn't much to do on a farmstead during winter. And she concentrated on the life growing inside her. She sang to herself and the child within every night. She felt Adalia's attention on her during these times, but since she never told her to stop, Siofra continued to sing.

Adalia was kind and sympathetic. She never worked her too hard and never pried into her mind. Though one day, Siofra opened up and told Adalia everything that had happened. Adalia had not judged her. Instead, she told her of herself, of how horrible her husband had been to her and how thankful she was to the Maker that she had never conceived a child with him. With these shared confidences, Adalia and Siofra became good friends. Adalia was not so much older than Siofra and though they were from backgrounds as different as night and day, they got along great.

Alras stopped by every once in a while, keeping his promise to provide Siofra with provisions. He would always stay the night for they would all speak far into the night. On these occasions, Siofra noticed a change in Adalia. She would become a little shy but as Alras babbled on, she would become herself again. Siofra would always nod off first and whenever she woke, Alras would be gone already.

All these months leading up to her delivery, Siofra never stopped thinking of Rory. She wondered how he was doing. If he had been hurt. She thought of ways in which she could reach him, thought of going to the Circle Tower and trying to see him, but thought better of it as she grew large and had a hard time walking around. She decided to bide her time. She would ask Adalia to write a message for him and then she would find a way to get it to him. She just hoped that he wouldn't think of escaping again before the message got to him. Otherwise, they might never find each other again.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Tristan crouched on the dirt path in front of the elven ruins, staring at a tiny white flower – Andraste's Grace. He remembered the time he had given some just like these to Leliana. The way her face lit up and her enthusiastic hug of gratitude. He had been nervous to give it to her, not sure of what she would think. It had been the best thing he had ever done. Now, however, he thoughtlessly pulled the flower out of the ground, picked it apart and irately threw it into the forest shrubbery. Leliana was just a dream now. He didn't know if she would ever forgive him. Perhaps he should never have gone through with the ritual. Perhaps it would have been better to have sacrificed himself. He picked at the earth in frustration as he tried to fight off his doubts. Ariane and Finn looked at him curiously, but quietly. Loki whined and sat right beside Tristan, sniffing and pawing at the upturned earth where the flower had just been a minute ago. _Ah Maker,_ he thought as he stood up abruptly.

"So, these are the ruins you spoke of, Ariane?" he asked, wanting to turn their attention away from his odd gesture with the flower. He patted Loki on the head.

"Yes, I believe they are." Ariane replied.

"A spectacular site," Finn commented, walking closer to the ruins to inspect them further.

"And the clan that was here, that discovered the mirror, are they still around?" Tristan inquired of Ariane. She shrugged.

"I am not sure," Ariane's reply was cut off by a low growl emanating from Loki, who fervently watched the forest at their backs. His back arched and his ears cocked back, Loki looked about ready to jump at whatever was hiding there. Tristan followed Loki's attention and at first could see nothing.

"That dog is growling at nothing again," Finn remarked but was shushed by Tristan. Tristan moved closer to Loki and put a reassuring hand on his head. He saw what Loki was growling menacingly at – a lone wolf. Its predatory blue eyes glowed leeringly towards them. Then, as quickly as it had appeared, it backed away into the forest, becoming just another shadow under the forest canopy.

"Was that a wolf? Why didn't it attack us?" Finn questioned out loud. Tristan had an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach, but for the moment, he chose to ignore it.

"It is alone." Ariane offered. Tristan nodded his agreement, and waved them forward into the ruins.

…

Inside, it was hard to tell that they were actually in ruins. The stone walls were covered with overgrown and very large, ancient trees. One might have thought they were still in part of the forest. There was debris everywhere and dripping sounds echoing down the long hallways.

"Is it… safe in here?" Finn asked, nervously eyeing the ceiling, covered in holes.

"It's just as safe as your tower." Ariane replied.

"I really don't believe that." Finn remarked as he nearly stumbled over a gnarled root sticking up out of the stone floor.

"Hmm… somebody's been in here before. Look at this graffiti. Maybe it was the hunters?" Ariane said as she bent over to examine something drawn on a corner wall. Finn went over to inspect as well.

"A heart? I can't make out the words…" Finn said. Tristan shushed them suddenly. They returned to his side. Loki emitted a low snarl. Down the hallway came a few elves, armed.

"I should greet them…" Ariane suggested and was about to walk into view when Tristan held her back.

"No, there's something wrong with these elves. They look… infected." Tristan observed.

"From the Eluvian, perhaps?" Finn suggested. The elves stopped, sensing movement. They took out bows and arrows and set them ready to fire. "I think they know we're here."

The elves did know that the four of them were there. They began firing their arrows towards them. The four of them took cover. Then, Tristan and Finn sent the infected elves to the back of the hallway with fireballs and lightning bolts.

"We could have talked to them!" Ariane shouted furiously, removing herself from cover. They began walking down the hallway.

"They are infected. Nothing more than zombies." Tristan replied.

"But, we could have tried…"

"They attacked us." Finn pointed out.

"You're right." Ariane admitted with resignation. The four of them were suddenly attacked by shrieks, who emerged from the shadows, attacking them with their claws and screaming their piercing howls. Ariane and Tristan cut them down, pushing Finn out of harm's way. Loki jumped on another, ripping it to pieces.

When that was done, they decided they should stay quiet from now on. There was no doubt other infected elves and shrieks around, and who knew what else. They made their way through the ruins cautiously, avoiding tree limbs here and there and dodging arrows from infected elves. Still, there was no sign yet of any sort of mirror.

Tristan was beginning to doubt Finn's word when they came upon a grand circular room. Great gnarled trees stood all around this room, seeming to hold up the roof. They reminded Tristan of wooden sentinels, with many limbs. In the middle of the room was a broken mirror, flanked by twin statues of what looked like elven warriors. Pieces of shard lay scattered around the broken relic.

"I can't believe this is one of the Eluvians. It's magnificent… and broken. Mostly broken." Finn remarked in amazement as Tristan walked slowly to the remains of the mirror.

"Is it safe to touch the shard?" Tristan asked, crouching over to look at the broken pieces.

"Well, I would think so. It is broken. Its power lies in its wholeness." Finn replied.

Tristan picked up a shard. He could see part of his reflection in it. There was something else there, something behind him. He got up quickly and turned around, intending to draw his sword, but stopped short when he found himself gazing into his own eyes. Or so he thought. An intricately carved sword pointed directly at his neck. No, this was not another reflection; they were being ambushed, by elves.

Loki growled as the room filled with about a dozen elves, all pointing their nocked bows in his and his companions' direction. Except for the elf standing on a rock in front of him; he held the sword steady, staring at Tristan with contempt. The elf was young, but powerful.

"Drop the shard, _shem_." the elf commanded. Tristan made no move to do as he said. Finn and Ariane stood nervously behind him.

"No." Tristan replied with composure. There was always something standing in his way, wasn't there? He wasn't going to let this elf stop his hunt for Morrigan. No way.

"Drop it," the elf repeated, moving closer to Tristan, pressing the tip of his sword into his neck.

"These elves are not infected. Let me talk to them." Ariane suggested.

The elf continued to stare at Tristan. Maker, but his eyes were eerily similar to his own. They were the same shape, same shade of blue. The elf also seemed to realize this fact as he further scrutinized Tristan. The elf slowly brought the sword up to Tristan's face, tracing, but not touching Tristan's tattoo.

"Who are you?" the elf asked him with interest.

"Drop your sword, tell your friends to aim elsewhere, and I'll tell you." Tristan replied.

"No. No I don't trust you. What are you doing here in these ruins? You are trespassing on my clan's land. Stealing from my people!" The fury in the elf's eyes grew.

"I do no such thing. This is a shard, from a broken mirror. It is nothing important." Tristan retorted angrily.

"Who are you to say what is important to my clan? Drop the shard, or I take it from you by force!" the elf yelled back.

"I dare you to try." Tristan teased. He let a fireball grow in his free hand. The elf moved back slightly, surprised at the magic.

"Stop that, or your friends will be shot." The elf threatened. There was tension in the room. The young elf seemed hesitant, unsure of himself. Tristan wanted desperately to just get out of there and if he had to blast himself through these elves, then so be it. But nobody made a move. The elf did not command his followers to shoot, nor did Tristan snuff his fireball or drop the shard.

Finally, an exasperated Ariane held up her hands in submission and made her way furiously towards Tristan. She placed herself in front of the sword. "Stop acting like children! We can explain what is going on, if you would both just stop your parade of bravado."

The elf continued to hold his sword up. "Tell the _shem_ to back down." He instructed Ariane. Ariane turned to Tristan and gave a pleading look. Sighing in frustration, Tristan diffused his fireball. Reluctantly, the elf then lowered his sword and commanded his followers to lower their bows. Finn let out his breath in relief.

"There. Now was that so hard?" Ariane asked sarcastically. "Can we talk now?"

"Not here. You are coming back to my village. You will answer to the Keeper for your crimes." The elf commanded his followers to tie up Tristan, Finn, and Ariane. They put a leash over Loki, though they had a hard time of it as the hound fought back, nipping and biting at a few fingers.

"Is this really necessary?" Ariane pleaded.

"Yes." The lead elf replied. He grinned haughtily at Tristan and then shoved him forward, poking him in the back with his sword; the sword that he was supposed to have lowered.

"If I would have known how ignobly two-faced you are, I would have blasted you all the way back to your gods." Tristan hissed furiously at the elf. The elf just chuckled and pushed him forward. He whistled a short melody until a wolf emerged from the shadows to follow at his side. It was the same wolf they had seen earlier. Tristan cursed. He should have listened to his instincts.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

_For Andraste's sake_.

Rory couldn't see a thing as his eyes struggled to adjust to the dim light. The Templars were dragging him roughly through the basement towards a cell. He had been in solitary confinement, in darkness, since they had brought him back to the cursed tower. His head throbbed still from the blow they had given him in the ruins and then again in the dark pit. They reached the cell. The larger, meaner looking Templar kept hold of him by his neck, pressing him into a choke hold, and chuckling. The other Templar, an older, generally kinder man named Jarek, unlocked the cell door, creaked it open, and motioned for the big Templar to put Rory inside.

"For the love of the Maker, Hubert, stop choking him and just put him inside the cell already." Jarek commanded. Hubert rolled his eyes, let go of Rory's neck and shoved him into the cell. The door slammed shut and the key locked him in. Rory coughed and gasped for air, trying to catch his breath back. He rubbed his neck and glared as menacingly as he could at Hubert, who only laughed at Rory's effort.

"That's what you get for escaping." Hubert teased Rory. Jarek motioned for Hubert to leave and was about to follow when Rory called him back, his voice a raspy, sputtering version of his normal one.

"When… when am I to go back upstairs?" he pleaded with Jarek. Jarek sighed.

"Sorry, pup, but the First Enchanter, and the Knight Commander are both very angry with you. Looks like you'll be staying here for a while." Jarek explained with a sympathetic shake of his head.

Rory covered his head with his hands and sighed. "Thank you," he managed to say to Jarek. Jarek nodded and then left. So, he would not be able to escape for a while. He had to get upstairs first. But he didn't know what their plans for him were. For all he knew, they might be planning to make him Tranquil. There was no way he would let them do that, ever. He would rather die.

Rory slunk to the back of the cell and leaned against the wall, still rubbing his neck. He thought of Siofra. It was the only thing that got him through each day. He didn't know how long he had been in solitary confinement, for there was no way to mark the days, to distinguish night from day because of the constant darkness. He had feared going mad, had tried to light up the pit with magic, but nothing worked. He was normal. How ironic, he had wanted to be normal for so long, and when he finally got the chance, it was in a dark pit where he wished he could use magic.

"Couldn't escape the tower, then, could you?" a voice interrupted his thoughts. Rory was startled; he had thought he was alone. He looked to the cell to the left of him; there was a mage in there, a young man with closely cropped black hair, a tanned complexion, and piercing grey eyes. He recognized the mage, his name was Dex. Dex was older than Rory, having undergone the Harrowing the year before.

"Dex? What are you doing down here?" Rory asked. Dex came closer to Rory's cell and held onto the bars.

"I was inspired by your own escape. I tried to escape, but you know, they tracked me down right beside Lake Calenhad. You know that bastard Templar?"

"You mean, Hubert?"

"No, Hubert's just an idiot. I'm talking about Edwin."

"Oh, right, Edwin. He's the one who gave me a knock on the head, twice." Rory thought back to his capture. Edwin had smiled maliciously at Rory's situation, had taunted him about Siofra when he had finally awoken. By the Maker, he wished he could kill Edwin.

"Anyway, I managed to get a good left hook on him before they tied me up. If it wasn't for Jarek being there, Edwin would have killed me, for sure." Dex's face was full of anger. _I guess I'm not the only mage who wishes Edwin would just die_.

"Nice." Rory applauded Dex.

"Meh, it doesn't feel as satisfying as it could. Look at me. Look at us. We're stuck in this prison. Even when we get out of these cells," Dex struck the bars of the cell to prove his point, "we're just going straight up to another."

"Right." Rory sighed. "Thanks for reminding me of the hopelessness of our situation."

Dex grinned mischievously at Rory. Rory returned his look with a puzzled one. Dex beckoned Rory closer. Rory moved slowly over to Dex.

"I did manage to find out something very important and useful." Dex whispered.

"Oh?" Rory arched his brow at this statement. _This should be good_.

"I know where the phylacteries are."

Rory tried not to get his hopes up. He remembered Dex's reputation for tall tales. "And where are they?"

"The apprentice phylacteries – yours – are right here, in this basement. Those of mages, like me, are in Denerim." Dex looked mightily pleased with himself. Was he telling the truth?

"And you're sure about this?" Rory asked.

"I am. The only catch…"

"Of course, there's a catch."

"… they are guarded by sentinels, behind doors that cannot be opened with our magic. And the ones in Denerim, well they're nearly impossible to get to, if one even knows where in the city to look." Dex explained. "But I believe, no, I know that your phylactery can be broken very easily. I can get in."

"And why would you do something like this?" Rory questioned Dex. He didn't believe that Dex could be that kind.

"If you were free from the Circle, then you could do me a favour in return. You could go to Denerim and destroy mine. Then we could both be free."

"You would trust me to do this _nearly impossible_ task?" Rory asked in disbelief.

"Of course. Even if you turned your back on me, I would still relish the thought that I had a hand in your escape. I would love to see the look on Edwin's face." Dex grinned.

"But if you got caught…"

They were interrupted by Hubert, who shoved some water and bread into their cells.

"Would you two shut up? This is not a place for chatter. Don't make me go in there and gag you both." He threatened. Rory looked at Dex, who made an incredibly silly impersonation of Hubert's face. For the first time in a very long time, Rory burst into laughter. Hubert kicked at the cell and made a threatening gesture at both of them. "I mean it."

Rory cut his laughter short, but could not wipe the smirk from his face. So he slunk back to the other corner of his cell and sat quietly there until Hubert finally left. Then he went to gather the chunk of bread and the flask of water. He was rather famished and really thirsty. Dex was already gobbling up his meal, toasting Rory from afar.

…

Rory never got the chance to finish his conversation with Dex, for not long after, the Templars came by to take Dex away. After a few days of prodding Jarek for information, Jarek finally relented and let go that Dex was simply taken back upstairs to the mage quarters. The First Enchanter had decided that his punishment was over.

So, Rory found himself alone, most of the time. The cell was bleak, cold, and dreadfully boring. He thought of nothing but Siofra and how he would get back to her. He pondered what Dex had said and wondered if it was possible; if his phylactery was in fact here in this basement. If only his magic wasn't so useless down here, he would mind blast these Templars and run off. But he couldn't do that. He had actually never even tried to perform that kind of magic. _Blood magic, on the other hand, now that would be something. They would fear me and I could get away._ He knew how it worked. However, he had never attempted it. It was forbidden, punishable by death.

When he wasn't alone, he was watched carefully by either Jarek or Hubert. Dex was right; Hubert was nothing but an idiot. In fact, Rory noticed that Hubert's bravado was nothing but a façade. Hubert was scared. Rory could see it in the way his hands shook and his eye twitched when Rory attempted to glean any information from him. Hubert never attempted to physically harm him unless Jarek was nearby. Even then, he only managed a kick to Rory's shins before quickly retreating back to the safety of the other side of the cell bars. Rory would smirk at Hubert and Hubert would cover up his fear through empty threats and taunts.

Jarek, on the other hand, was another story. He was older than Hubert, a middle aged family man. He had been a Templar for longer than Rory had been alive. Jarek was easygoing, sympathetic to Rory's plight, and kind. He chatted with Rory and if Rory badgered him enough, would let out some information that he wasn't supposed to. Rory, however, didn't dare bring up the subject of phylacteries. He didn't want to let on that he was already planning another escape. Well, he couldn't actually do anything until he got out of the cell. Until then, he spoke to Jarek of mundane things and behaved rather nicely if he did say so himself. Sooner or later, they would have to let him back upstairs.

Eventually they did, but it took all of Rory's self-restraint to stay calm because they sent Edwin to fetch him. Edwin came strutting into the cell with a scowl on his face, followed by Hubert. Edwin had a scar running through the left side of his face from his brow to his chin and the most eerie black eyes which made some people fear him, though others thought him handsome. But Rory wasn't scared of him. He wanted to bash his face in, but he couldn't do that, could he? Not if he wanted to stay in the cell for any longer.

"You're going back upstairs." Edwin stated with disgust. He motioned for Hubert to grab Rory and Hubert did so, grabbing Rory by the arm and dragging him into a standing position. Rory could feel Hubert's fear as Hubert looked anywhere but at Rory. "By the Maker, I have no idea why they are showing you any mercy, but you won't get any from me."

Edwin lifted his hand up and was about to strike Rory across the face, but was stopped in time by Jarek. "I wouldn't do that. Bringing up damaged goods won't get you the promotion you seek." Jarek warned Edwin. He held onto Edwin's arm until Edwin reluctantly brought it down, grunting his frustration.

"Let's go then." Edwin stated as he turned around to leave the cell. Rory glanced gratefully at Jarek, who gave him a wink as Hubert dragged him by. As he was lead through the basement, Rory made a note of everything he saw. He didn't notice any special looking doors or sentinels, but maybe, he thought, they were down that hallway they passed as they reached the stairs.

In any case, the Templars brought him upstairs to the outside of the First Enchanter's study. Rory couldn't help but gloat at Edwin, which only enraged the Templar further. He couldn't do anything to physically harm Rory in full view of everyone, but that didn't stop him from trying to hit Rory where it would hurt the most.

"Gloat now, sorcerer, but you will soon be crying like a baby as I tell you this…" Edwin leaned in close to Rory's face, a malicious smirk distorting his scar. Rory had to hold back from punching him. "Your little _slut_ is dead, by her father's own hands."

_That's it, he's going to get it._ Rory thought as his free fist, for Hubert was still clutching his other arm, came arching through the air towards Edwin's face. "Liar!" he yelled. But he didn't hit Edwin as Hubert pulled him away and his fist hit instead the air in front of a laughing Edwin.

"Enough!" Jarek commanded, "Edwin, go away. You are relieved of your duties for now. Hubert, you too." Edwin looked at Jarek with disdain before turning away and leaving. Hubert, meanwhile, still clutched at Rory.

"Are you sure it's safe?" he asked Jarek.

"Yes, yes. I can handle him. Go, now. The commander has other duties for you." Jarek waved away Hubert, who finally, reluctantly let go of Rory and quickly followed after Edwin. Jarek turned his attention to Rory, who had slunk down against the wall in a daze. "You, you almost blew it there. What did he say to you?"

Rory shrugged. _Edwin was lying. He had to be. He would know if Siofra was…_ "Maker's breath." He gasped. He had to get out of here. He had to find out the truth.

"What is the meaning of all this racket?" said an elderly mage who came through the door nearby. The First Enchanter. He saw Rory slumped over near the wall. "Oh, I see. Come in, now."

The First Enchanter went back into his study. Rory made no move to get up. Jarek sighed and crouched beside Rory. "You can't let Edwin get to you. Now come on, you have to get up."

Rory made no attempt to get up, so Jarek grabbed him gently by the shoulder and pulled him up. He then directed him into the First Enchanter's office, where Rory received a long lecture on his responsibilities as an apprentice and other such things. The words floated through his head but never registered. He could think of nothing but what Edwin had said. _It wasn't true. It couldn't be true._

…

Now that he was back in the apprentice quarters, Rory was able to tell how much time had passed. It was the dead of winter and everywhere he looked the apprentices shivered from the cool air emanating from the cracks in the stone walls of the tower. Rory walked around wishing he was out there in the cold. He would rather have frostbitten fingers and toes and be with Siofra than be in the tower.

Edwin's words, however, ate him up and he could concentrate on nothing else. He needed to find out if Siofra was still alive. If she wasn't, it was all his fault. He couldn't go on if the one good thing that had ever happened to him in his entire life was gone. He didn't deserve to go on if that was so.

When Rory resumed his lessons, he did nothing but gaze blankly at his mentors. Eventually, they gave up on trying to get him to work and let him sulk in the library. Rory did not cross paths with Edwin, which was a good thing, because the Templar was the only thing that riled up his emotions enough to look alive. He saw Jarek every now and then trudging through the hallways to his duties. Jarek would always stop and inquire of Rory's wellbeing and always Rory had nothing to give him but a shrug and a forlorn grin.

Then one spring day Jarek came to fetch Rory from his favorite brooding spot in the library. He said nothing, only dragging him past the apprentice quarters towards the quartermaster. Rory gave Jarek a puzzled look and was about to open his mouth to ask what was going on when Jarek just shook his head and pointed toward the quartermaster, shushing him. Rory's gaze followed Jarek's. Unusually, there were no other Templars around, just the quartermaster, and a hooded figure.

"Jarek…?" he asked again, but Jarek just shoved him gently towards the hooded figure and the quartermaster.

"Alright. Make it quick now, eh? This can gets me in lots of trouble it can," the quartermaster said sternly to the hooded figure, then took his leave to stand beside Jarek, passing Rory with a warning stare.

Confused, Rory turned his attention to the hooded figure. As he looked down into the figure's face, he could see nothing but green eyes, glowing like a cat's in the darkness.

"So, you are Rory?" the figure asked. Rory nodded. The figure studied him for a moment. Rory became impatient and a little uncomfortable under the close scrutiny.

"And who might you be?" Rory asked impatiently.

The figure swiftly removed his hood to reveal a mane of dark hair, elf ears protruding through the locks, and an intricately tattooed face. He grinned mischievously. Rory couldn't help but suck in his breath in surprise. _A Dalish elf, here? For me?_ "I am Alras, husband to Siofra's sister."

Rory held onto his breath, his heart pounding quickly. "Siofra? Where is she? Is she alive?" he managed to ask.

"Calm your nerves, of course she is alive." Alras replied. Rory finally let out his breath. _Edwin was lying. I should have known. I should never have let him get to me. He will pay for this…_

"How is she? Where is she? Is she here?" Rory's thoughts sputtered out of control. Alras shushed him, looking around nervously.

"Look there is not much time. I have paid good and precious coin just to see you and I have pulled in a favour from the quartermaster here. I have something for you." Alras turned around to crouch beside a sack. Digging through it he came up with a rolled up piece of vellum. He handed it to Rory. Rory was going to open it right away, but Alras stayed his hands. "No, not now. Read it later."

"Is it from Siofra?" Rory inquired. Alras nodded. At that moment Jarek shuffled forward.

"The guards are returning. We must go." Jarek warned.

"But…" Rory looked pleadingly at Jarek. Jarek shook his head. He turned back towards Alras, who shifted on his feet nervously. "Is there any way I can reach her?"

"I will come back, in a month or so, to trade. You can pass a letter to the quartermaster and I will take it to her." Alras responded.

"Let's go, now." Jarek took Rory away before he could say anything else to Alras. He did manage to mouth a thank you. Alras simply nodded and then covered his face with his hood again. The quartermaster returned to his side just as the guards returned. Rory shoved the letter into his sleeve. As the Templar guards passed Jarek and Rory, Jarek tossed them a pouch of coins, which they accepted with a silent acknowledgement.

Jarek accompanied Rory back to the apprentice quarters and was about to leave when Rory stopped him. "You would… bribe the guards, for me?"

Jarek smiled. "There is yet a bit of kindness in these old bones. I hate to see anyone, mage or not, so miserable."

Rory returned the smile. "Thank you. You have shown me more than _a bit_ of kindness. I owe you."

Jarek just grunted and turned to take his leave. Rory pulled out the letter from Siofra. He stared at it for a moment, caressing it, feeling like he was dreaming. He imagined he could smell her scent on it, but of course, he couldn't for it smelled only like Alras's leather sack. Finally, he unrolled it, admiring the neat letters. _I didn't know she could write…_

It said only that Siofra was well. That she missed him and hoped he was alright. She had left her clan and was living with a kind woman named Adalia, who was the author of the letter, for Siofra could neither write nor read. She hoped that they could be together again, one day.

_She left her clan…? _Rory wondered why she would do that. He remembered her saying how much she loved the forest. He suddenly felt guilty for taking her away from that. Perhaps it had something to do with her father? He did look rather mean… In any case, Rory felt generally better. He was optimistic now. Suddenly, Dex's plan didn't look so impossible.


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Rory continued to act miserable in front of everyone, thinking if he looked anything but that his scheming would be revealed. Jarek was the only exception; he just couldn't bring himself to deceive the benevolent Templar. Though Rory looked blank on the outside, inside, he was planning, calculating his escape. He was going to get out of the blasted tower once and for all. He was going to be with Siofra again. He needed to contact Dex, but Dex was in the mage quarters and he couldn't easily get there without permission. So he waited, bided his time, hoping the First Enchanter would call some sort of assembly together where he could get a word in with Dex without raising suspicions.

As luck would have it, Dex came down on his own, to fetch a book in the library. Rory didn't notice him at first, as he was busy scribbling graffiti into the table top. Dex slammed a heavy book down onto the table across from him.

"Maker, these tomes are heavy." Dex declared, grinning impishly at Rory. He took a seat and began flipping through the book. Rory, once his surprise and pleasure at seeing Dex diminished, acknowledged him with a slight bob of the head. There were a few Templars around, watching the apprentices closely. "Blast it, this is the wrong one. Apprentice, yes, you there, you're tall, help me over there." Dex gestured toward a row of books in the back, well away from any Templars.

Rory, playing his part well, sighed, rolled his eyes in annoyance and slowly got up. "Fine." He followed Dex to the back row.

"Maker, I thought I'd never get the chance to talk to you." Rory began.

"Listen," Dex cut him off. "We don't have much time. I know you seemed like you weren't sure about helping me last we talked, but I think what I have to tell you now will change your mind completely."

"What is it?" Rory nervously asked as he easily pulled a book from the top most shelf and handed it to Dex.

"I've been sneaking around upstairs, right." Dex whispered, looking over his shoulders at the nearest Templar. "I found some papers… look I'll just be blunt here, they want to make us both Tranquil."

Rory nearly cursed aloud, but Dex shushed him.

"Imbecile apprentice, that's the wrong book! Put it back and get the other one near it." Dex yelled for the Templar's benefit, as he was watching them really closely now. He shoved the book into the hands of the fuming mad Rory. At least he didn't have to pretend to be offended by Dex's remark.

"Are you sure of this?" Rory demanded of Dex as he shoved the book violently back onto the shelf.

"Careful!" Dex yelled, again for the Templar's benefit. Then, lowering his voice, he replied to Rory, "Yes, I am sure. It seems they don't trust us anymore. They think we are too powerful and likely to escape again. It certainly doesn't help that you've been moping around, brooding… The orders have been given. We don't have much time. We have to act soon. Are you in?"

"It seems I have no choice then. I am in. What's the plan?"

"That is still in formation. I will come to you. For now, just act normal." Dex glanced nervously at the Templar who stared suspiciously at them. "You better go."

Rory stalked back over to his seat and threw himself into the chair. So, his biggest fear was coming true. There was no way they would make him Tranquil. He was getting out of this prison, no matter what it took.

…

Rory had his doubts of Dex's revelation, after the initial surprise, but the more he thought about it, the more likely it seemed. He did run into Edwin soon after meeting with Dex. The smug look Edwin gave him only made Rory sure of what was to come. He considered asking Jarek if it was true, but thought better of it. Instead, he wrote a short note to Siofra, "expect good hunting near Lake Calenhad by the end of summer", and prayed to the Maker that Alras would come by before then. Handing it over to Jarek, he trusted that the Templar would not read it, nor simply discard it. Then, he simply waited for Dex.

The waiting was horrid. Every moment he expected to be tied up, beaten, and forced to undergo the transformation to becoming Tranquil. He stood on his guard day and night and was barely able to sleep. He talked to no one, except for Jarek. The Templar was the only one who could get him to relax. Rory didn't know why. Maybe it was his fatherly affection, maybe it was his trustworthiness. Whatever the case, Rory owed the man a lot, though he didn't know how he would ever repay him.

As he was pondering his future in his bed, like he did every night, he was suddenly poked in the arm. He turned around quickly, but could see nothing, for it _was_ the middle of the night.

"It's time." Dex whispered. Rory let go of his breath. He had thought it was the Templars come to make his nightmare come true.

"It's about time." Rory remarked as Dex gestured for him to follow. An apprentice stirred in a nearby bed.

"Be quiet." Dex whispered. They made their way quietly out of the apprentice quarters into the hallway. It was quiet, lighted only by a few torches.

"We're going to destroy your phylactery in the basement. Then make our escape from there." Dex explained quietly after quickly checking to the left and right.

"I can't swim." Rory complained.

"No need to, we'll steal one of the boats. It will be a whole lot easier than your last escape. Ha." Dex chuckled quietly.

"Don't mock me. It was the best I could come up with…" Rory countered. Dex shushed him as they heard footsteps coming down the hall. Heavy, armored footsteps.

"Shit, it's the Templars." Dex quickly hid behind a statue mounted near the wall. Rory was too late. The Templar came around the bend in the hall and spotted Rory.

"Rory!" asked a surprised Jarek. He was in plain clothes but was accompanied by another Templar in full armor.

"Um, hello." Rory replied, a little foolishly. He was relieved that it was Jarek, but the other Templar glared at him suspiciously.

"What's going on?" Jarek demanded.

"I, uh, needed to relieve myself…" Rory stammered. _Ugh, what a stupid answer._ Jarek regarded Rory calmly. He motioned for the other Templar to continue on his way.

"I'll take care of this. You go on to your shift." Jarek told the Templar.

"You sure?" the Templar asked, unsure of himself. Jarek waved him off.

"Yes. Go on."

The Templar reluctantly went on his way. Rory ran a hand through his hair in a nervous, unconscious gesture. His heart pounded furiously. He stole a glance at the statue, catching a glimpse of Dex, who was clutching something shiny in his hand.

"Going somewhere?" Jarek questioned Rory. Rory shook his head and chuckled.

"No. Are you? You look like a fisherman." Rory replied, pointing at Jarek's outfit.

"I've got a week's leave to go visit my family." Jarek explained.

"Oh, and you weren't going to say 'goodbye'?" Rory jested.

"I would have. I leave tomorrow."

Rory watched nervously as Dex stepped away from the statue, brandishing a very sharp dagger. He tried to shake his head in an effort to stop Dex from whatever he was going to do. Puzzled at Rory's gesture, Jarek quickly tried to turn around, but Dex already had a hold on him, pressing the dagger into his neck, threatening to plunge it all the way.

"Don't move Templar, and don't call for help, unless you want that to be the last thing you ever do." Dex threatened Jarek.

"Dex, don't!" Rory pleaded. But Dex shook his head vehemently.

"No, Rory. This is good. He can get us through the basement with no problems."

"But…"

"As long as he does what I say…"

"Fine." Rory finally agreed, exasperated. It would make things a lot easier. He looked at Jarek apologetically. Jarek didn't look angry, or panicked, he looked only disappointed. For some reason, this tore at Rory more than it would have if Jarek had cursed him. He couldn't look Jarek in the eye so he turned his attention to Dex. "Let's go."

"Couldn't have said it better myself. But, you're stronger, you deal with the Templar." Dex took another dagger out of his robes and shoved it at Rory. Rory reluctantly took hold of Jarek, pressing the dagger into his back.

…

They made it to the basement with no problems. It was the middle of the night, the Templars were not numerous. Rory had to shove Jarek forward. He hated himself for using Jarek like this. Before he had been relieved to see Jarek, but now he wished it had been another Templar walking down the hallway. He didn't know that Dex would go this far, but he understood it was necessary. Whatever it took, he would get out of the tower, once and for all. If Jarek had to be a pawn in this game, then so be it.

Dex led them down a dark hallway which ended with an ominous double door. They had to force Jarek to open it, for their magic would not work. Jarek reluctantly did so, after Dex punched him in the face.

"The sentinels will kill us all." Jarek warned before they opened the door. Dex laughed.

"No they won't." Dex opened the door, then flashing Rory and Jarek a grin, he ran into the storage room and began casting a mind blast spell, freezing the large, stone sentinels before they could even react to the door being opened. He waved in Rory, who pushed Jarek forward.

"This is way too easy." Rory remarked.

"I'm not complaining." Dex replied. He walked over to Jarek, who crouched on his knees. "Where are the phylacteries?"

Jarek said nothing.

"Tell us, old man!" Dex threatened, pressing his dagger into Jarek's neck. Still, Jarek refused to say anything. Rory shoved Dex out of the way and faced Jarek.

"Jarek, please, if you actually do care anything about me, then just tell me where my phylactery is." He pleaded with Jarek. Jarek looked up at him, pity in his face.

"After the way you have repaid me?" Jarek retorted.

"Like you are any better, old man. You stood by while he was beaten in the pit, in his cell. He owes you nothing!" Dex angrily cut in. Jarek remained silent. "You'll tell us if it's the last thing you do!"

"Enough!" Rory roared. "We'll find it ourselves."

He turned away from Jarek and Dex and went to look around the room. There were vials all around. He could break all of them, if he wished, but it wouldn't make a difference to the mages upstairs. Their blood would be taken again as soon as the act was discovered. Rory sighed heavily in frustration. "I'll break them all."

"That's right, we'll break them all." Dex enthusiastically repeated. "Don't move old man, unless you want to be turned to stone."

Jarek remained slumped on his knees. Rory began breaking vials, shattering them onto the floor. An immense hatred built up in him at that moment and was released in his fury as he knocked down shelves and shattered everything he could find. If these were phylacteries, he wanted them all broken. He wanted them all utterly destroyed. In his wrath, he cast bolts of lightning around the room, starting a tempest that would not stop until his wrath was spent. Dex joined in, laughing maniacally.

When his fury was spent, when everything was knocked over and spilt to the ground, Rory turned his attention to Jarek.

"You… you knew their plans for me, and you never told me!" he yelled, grabbing Jarek by the neck.

"I know not what you are talking about." Jarek responded.

"Tranquil. They want to make me Tranquil!" he clutched even harder at Jarek's neck.

"This is the first I've heard…"

"Shut up! You were going to let them do that to me. You were going to do it to me. You care nothing about me! You made me think you were my friend, but you are nothing but a dirty, wicked Templar!" Rory shoved Jarek hard to the ground.

"Rory, maybe we should just go…" Dex suggested, looking a little surprised at the wrath emanating from Rory. Rory ignored him.

"I did nothing to deceive you…" Jarek croaked. Rory lost control of himself then. He couldn't tell right from wrong. He felt only the injustice of his life. He remembered the wails of his mother as they took him away. He remembered the loneliness he felt growing up in the tower. He remembered the Templars killing his best friend, his first escape, his parting from Siofra, the one good thing in his life. He saw not Jarek cowering underneath him, but Edwin. The evil, son of a bitch Edwin; the personification of all that was wrong with his life. He plunged the dagger into Edwin's chest, again and again. He felt Dex trying to stop him. Heard his own voice wondering out loud why Dex would stop him, for didn't he hate Edwin as much as he did? Finally, he was knocked over by Dex. The dagger fell from his hand. He smiled sadistically at Dex.

"Rory… what have you done?" Dex asked him, looking at the mess of a body in front of Rory. Rory caught his breath as he looked at his handiwork. _What? That's not Edwin…_ He looked at his hands, bloodied, dripping onto his robe.

"Maker's breath." He gasped. _Jarek, what have I done?_ He suddenly felt sick. He went over to the corner and vomited. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't move. Dex came over to him and dragged him into a standing position.

"We have to go. The spell on the sentinels will wear off soon… we made so much noise. We have to go…" Dex reasoned with him. Still, Rory could not move. He looked at poor Jarek, a bloody mess. Dex had to drag him away, for he would not move of his own free will, his eyes transfixed on what he had done. _Whatever it takes…_ he tried to comfort himself.

…

The rest of the escape was a blur for Rory. He remembered Dex heaving him into a boat and then rowing away from the tower. He remembered the rocking of the boat and the silent patter of the small waves rippling against the boat. Then suddenly they were on land, the moonlight guiding them into the forest near the lake. It was there that Dex tried to literally slap some sense into Rory. It worked, for a moment at least.

"Listen, we have to go our separate ways. You should be safe, seeing as we destroyed all those vials. But me, I need to get as far away from here as physically possible… Look, I'm sorry about what happened back there, I never meant to let it go that far…" Dex looked truly sorry. Rory stared at him blankly. "Anyway, don't forget our agreement."

Dex patted Rory on the face. He looked at him for a moment, hesitant to leave Rory in his present state.

"Go." Rory finally rasped. With one final look at Rory, Dex turned around to leave, quickly becoming another shadow in the forest.

…

Rory wandered the forest on the shores of Lake Calenhad for days. He felt as if he walked in a dream. Nothing seemed real. He grew hungry and thirsty, yet didn't take any sustenance. His robe became muddy and filthy, the blood of Jarek drying up on his hands. He was a monster. How else could he have killed in such cold blood, and so easily? Jarek had done nothing to deserve his fate. He had made it out of the tower, again, but at what cost? Was it really worth it? Would Siofra even want him if she knew the lengths he had went to in escaping? Honestly, he felt like curling up in a ball and burying himself in the ground. But he kept wandering. If his message had gotten through to Siofra, she might even be around somewhere. And he had promised Dex he would go to Denerim. He couldn't break his word. Rory's mind and thoughts were in such a blur, however, that he didn't even notice right away that Siofra _was_ there.

…

Siofra had gotten Rory's message not long after she had given birth. It was late spring. She was so swollen with child that she couldn't walk anywhere. She had feared that she would die giving birth. At least she had contacted Rory, thanks to Alras. But she hadn't told him she was with child. She wanted to tell him in person. She wasn't sure if that was the right thing to do, but it felt right, so she went with her gut.

Adalia had been there when Siofra went into labour. Siofra had wished that Neria could be there, but it was impossible. Neria dared not visit her, for Theron was very angry at Siofra's disappearance and feared his eldest daughter leaving, thus he kept a close and overbearing eye on Neria, though she was married and old enough to make her own decisions. In any case, the actual process of giving birth had been very painful. Siofra had wanted to give up many times, but Adalia kept her going, holding her hand, stroking her head, and whispering encouragements. Finally, after many long hours, the baby finally came. She and Rory had a son. She named him Alim.

When she had gotten Rory's cryptic message, she quickly set her mind to leaving Adalia's company. She made a cradleboard, so she could carry Alim easily to Lake Calenhad. She found it hard to leave Adalia, for she had become a good friend, but it was necessary. Rory would be expecting her. She made Adalia promise not to tell Alras her plans, for she thought he might stop her from wandering into the world on her own, with a baby no less. Reluctantly, Adalia had agreed. And so Siofra left in the middle of summer and made her way toward Lake Calenhad.

Siofra had picked her way carefully to the forests near the lake, avoiding the main roads and keeping to the forest. She didn't want to run into any bandits, or worse any sort of monsters. She had heard tales of walking skeletons wandering places where the veil to the Fade was thin, but those were just human tales, weren't they? Nevertheless, she took no chances and kept to herself. She made a little shelter in the woods and hunted for survival. She walked around the forests, humming and singing, Alim attached to her back, expecting to find Rory any day. When she did see him, she almost mistook him for a ghoul; he looked so lost and confused, so dirty and frail.

Siofra approached him slowly. He regarded her blankly. She stared at his hands and robe, blood stains covering them. Was he hurt?

"Rory?" she asked timidly. Rory looked at her, but Siofra felt like he looked straight through her. What was wrong? She took his arm and led him back to her makeshift camp. He did not resist, yet still, he remained quiet. Frightened by his state, she sat him down and decided to clean him up. She gathered some water in her flask and began gently cleaning him up. She took his dirty robe off and dressed him with some clothing she had brought with her from Adalia's. She ran her hands through his hair, de-tangling it and cleaning it. When she was done, she laid him back on the ground and after placing Alim gently to the side in a tent, she lay next to Rory and fell asleep.

…

Rory woke up on a blanket. He was clean, wearing different clothes. Someone was by his side. He turned toward her, her golden hair glistening in the morning dew. It was Siofra. Was he dreaming? He sat up carefully, not wishing to disturb this magical vision, but he felt Siofra stir. She opened her eyes. The sight of those sparkling blue gems took his breath away. She sat up. He reached for her face and held onto it.

"Siofra." He whispered. She held his hand and tears began to run down her cheeks, onto their intertwined hands.

"I feared your spirit had left…" she said through quiet sobs. "Are you all right? What happened?" Rory gathered her into his arms. He wasn't dreaming after all. This was real. He had made it back to her.

"Oh Siofra, my love… you found me…" Rory said, squeezing Siofra tightly. She returned the squeeze. Siofra pressed her lips to his own. His thoughts became awash in pleasure as he hungrily returned the kiss. He ran his hands through her hair, down her back, her arms, over her breasts. He wanted to reacquaint himself with her. He wanted to make everything that had happened worth it. As he kissed her neck, however, something stirred nearby and began to wail. Siofra stiffened and withdrew herself from his embrace.

"Maker's breath, what is that? A squealing pig?" Rory asked, dumbfounded. Siofra stood up and gracefully crawled over Rory to the makeshift tent right beside them. She went inside and immediately the squealing stopped. She poked her head out at Rory.

"It is not a pig, but would you like to see what it is?" she asked, a smile on her face.

Confused, and a little anxious, Rory nodded his agreement. Siofra disappeared back into the tent and returned with a bundle of blankets.

"Hold your arms out." Siofra commanded him. Rory looked at her askance. She just smiled and waited for him to do as she said. So he held out his arms. She placed the blanket in his arms. Rory was surprised to find out how heavy the blankets were, but he was even more surprised to see a face, a drooling little face, looking up at him.

"Woah, what is this!" he asked, holding the baby as far away from him as possible, treating it like it was a sack of hot potatoes. Siofra chuckled.

"It is a baby, silly." She pushed the baby back closer to him. "Don't be afraid. Look at him closely."

Rory was afraid. What was Siofra doing with a baby? His heart beat faster as he did as Siofra asked and looked closely at the baby. It barely had any hair, but what it did have glowed brightly, like a candle flame. As the baby looked up at him and wiggled around in his arms, he noticed its eyes. They were the same stunning blue as Siofra's. Perplexed, he looked at Siofra. "What, what is going on?"

"Wow, you really are dense." She teased. Rory pouted in return. "This is Alim. He is your son. _Our son_."

_Our son?_ Rory looked at the baby. It started to wail again. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know what to say. He had a son? This was all too much for him. Siofra saw his discomfort and quickly took the baby back, calming it down.

"You are not happy?" she asked him.

"I… I just. You never said anything."

"I didn't want to tell you in a letter… but maybe I should have…" Siofra defended herself.

"No, no it's fine." 

"Is it?"

"Yes, I just need time…" Rory stood up and wandered to the edge of the little camp. He didn't know if he was ready to be a father. He was still feeling horrible for what he had done. There was no way he could raise a child. Not on the run. He buried his face in his hands and nearly wept.

…

A little while later, after Siofra had convinced him to eat, Rory wandered away from the camp to be alone. Siofra didn't know what was wrong. He hadn't answered her earlier and he didn't seem all too happy to have a son. Perhaps she should have told him? She didn't know what to do. Alim squirmed in her arms and made loud gurgling noises. She hugged him closely.

"I am sorry if I am disappointing you." Siofra said as Rory returned a few minutes later. He sighed and walked over to her, taking a seat next to her and Alim.

"No. Don't ever think that… if anything, I have disappointed you." Siofra was about to protest but Rory held up his hand and continued, "You have carried a child all this time. You have left your clan. All for me. And here I come, acting like an ungrateful bastard when you show nothing but joy in putting… our son… into my arms. I am sorry."

Siofra was comforted by his words, but she could tell that Rory was still troubled. She had found him wandering around like a ghoul after all. Should she bring that up again? She offered Alim to Rory, who awkwardly accepted the baby into his arms. "I would do anything for you, Rory. Do not feel responsible for taking me away from my clan. It was my decision."

Rory gave Siofra a sullen look. "I have ruined your life." 

"No, you have blessed my life." Siofra replied, gently stroking Alim's cheeks.

"What kind of life are we to have? On the run…"

"Don't think of it. For the moment, we are safe. That is all that matters." Siofra took Rory in her arms.

As Rory held Alim in his arms, all he could think of was how he _had _ruined Siofra's life. He had taken her away from her clan, the forest that she loved. All for what? A juvenile sense of love and adventure. It was bad enough that he screwed up Siofra's life, but now his son would suffer too. For what child could ever be happy living on the run? And then there was Jarek… he had a family. What would they do without him? Jarek should never have died. It should have been him. Rory should have just stayed in the Circle Tower and accepted his fate to be made Tranquil. Then everybody around him would have had a happy life.

…

The little family wandered around for the next few days. Rory suggested they head toward Denerim, the capital city. Siofra agreed, though she wondered why they were going that far north. Rory still wasn't himself and when Siofra finally asked him what was wrong, he just shrugged her off, reassuring her poorly that he was alright. Siofra decided to just let him be. He would confide in her when he felt like it.

The weather was very hot and sticky and so they kept to travelling by a large river which branched out from Lake Calenhad. They stopped to rest by a point in the river which had a swiftly moving current. Siofra splashed some water onto her face to cool off. Alim was being terribly fussy this afternoon. He was usually quiet. It must be the sun, Siofra thought as she ran a damp cloth over Alim's head.

Rory sat rigidly on a rock, staring and squinting intently at the trees just off the shore. He looked tense and anxious.

"What is it?" Siofra asked, coming up beside him with Alim in her arms. Rory continued to stare off into the distance.

"I thought I saw something…" he replied. At that moment, Siofra heard a shuffling of feet to either side of them, the clatter of steel pounding on the rocky shore. Rory sat up and shielded Siofra. Rory emitted an almost growl-like sound as he spitted out a name, "Edwin."

Siofra could see two Templars to their right and two Templars to their left. There was one right in front of them, but Rory was blocking her view. The sound of the current must have covered their approach. She held tightly to Alim as she realized that they were cornered, their only means of escape through the river at their backs.

"Still the stupid whelp, I see," the Templar named Edwin remarked with a laugh. Siofra saw Rory clench his fists and shake with fury. "Ah, and how romantic, you've reunited with your elven whore."

Rory let out a roar as he lifted his hands toward Edwin, emitting a flash of fire towards Edwin. Edwin laughed as it was absorbed by a magical protective shield.

"Tut, tut. You should know the Templars better by now." Edwin sneered.

"How did you find me?" Rory shouted at Edwin.

"Why, you've been betrayed by the quartermaster. You shouldn't trust your secrets to weaklings. It is much too easy and not as much fun to torture information out of them." Edwin replied, "It was also much too easy to track you, even with your phylactery shattered. No fun at all. But then again, they did tell me to bring you back, dead or alive. Personally, I'd rather much like to bring you back dead."

Siofra clutched at Alim, terrified for Rory. They could swim away. The Templars couldn't follow them in their heavy armor. They would get away. It was possible.

"You can certainly try." Rory retorted defiantly, though he glanced around him at the four other Templars brandishing their swords. Edwin noticed his anxious counting.

"That's right. There's more than just one of us this time. Certainly no old fool like Jarek. The poor man. Though I must say I never liked the man. Much too preachy. Much too kind to sorcerers. And look where that got him." Edwin gloated at Rory. Siofra grabbed Rory by the arm. She felt the fury rising through him.

"Rory," she whispered, "we can get away. We can swim across the river…"

Rory looked at her then. His face transformed from one of loathing to one of resignation. He nodded and then backed them away slowly into the river. "Hold onto Alim." Rory said quietly. Edwin and the other Templars moved closer to them. Edwin laughed cruelly at the scene.

"You think the river will save you?" he taunted them. Rory and Siofra continued to back into the water, the current getting stronger as they waded deeper. It was up to their knees when Rory turned to Siofra and with a melancholic look, he shoved her as hard as he could into the swiftly moving river. Siofra, too surprised at this sudden act of desperation, found herself underwater, clutching Alim for dear life and being carried away from Rory quicker than she thought possible. She fought her way to the top, able to breathe again. Alim, though he coughed and sputtered out water, looked no worse for wear. She cursed Rory for his foolishness as she struggled to stay above water. She tried to look back, to get a glimpse of Rory. When she was finally able to, the river had carried her so far away that all she could see was a tempest of lightning and the glint of steel.

…

Hours later, Siofra made her way back to the scene. The current had taken her so very far away she feared that she wouldn't make it back by nightfall. But she returned, just as the sun was setting, turning the sky above the river pink and orange. She didn't know what to expect. She couldn't believe that Rory would be dead. She tried to convince herself that he had gotten away. She had kept to the side of the river the whole time, expecting to see him swimming towards shore. But he never did. And then she reached the point where he had shoved her into the current.

Her heart pounded uncontrollably in her chest as she carefully took in the scene. There was nothing but blood all around. It was on the rocks, in the sand, and it had even turned part of the water to red. She fell to her knees and let out a keening wail.

Was it all Rory's blood? Was he truly gone from this world? For surely, no one could lose that much blood and still walk among the living. Siofra clutched at her chest as she rocked back in forth in grief. Alim began to squirm and cry, feeling his mother's distress. Siofra arose, her knees covered in bloody sand. She took one final look at the blood carnage and then fled into the oncoming darkness.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

The elf kicked Tristan in the back, forcing him to his knees. _Maker, if it was just me being threatened, I would have fried these elves already._ They were at the edge of the village, near an enclosure of _hallas_, who bleated pitifully every now and again. Tristan looked to his side, Finn was being shoved to the ground roughly and Ariane, perhaps because she was Dalish, was being treated a little more kindly, though she was brought to her knees as well. "As a girl, I broke the fingers of those that poked me needlessly." Ariane threatened the elves. They chuckled. "Just saying."

Two of the elves dragged Loki away, but the hound struggled mightily to stand his ground and they had to get help from another. Tristan cursed under his breath.

"What was that _shem_?" the brash young elf asked, getting in his face. Tristan ignored him. The elf grabbed Vigilance from Tristan's back. He held it up in the fading light. "Nice sword," he remarked, and then casually tossed it aside.

"You'll pay for this." Tristan quietly threatened.

The elf laughed and swaggered back and forth in front of Tristan. He held his hands up and mocked Tristan, "I'll pay for this, he says." The other elves chuckled nervously. Tristan noticed that they were all young, like the leader. They were probably a band of foolish youths, out to prove themselves. Well, they would learn fast not to mess with Tristan. The elf then came over to Tristan and wrenched his shield away. He examined it for a moment before tossing it aside as well.

"You put a griffin on your shield?" the elf laughed. "A mythical creature. What a fool you are."

Tristan grinned. The elf obviously didn't know the griffin was the symbol of the Grey Wardens. He couldn't help himself. "The only fool I see here is the one standing before me."

The elf became furious, stalking over to Tristan and swinging a left hook at his face. Tristan winced in pain but otherwise glared back daringly at the elf.

"Ronan, what is the meaning of this?" an authoritative voice boomed from behind them all. _Finally_, Tristan thought, _somebody responsible comes around_. The brash young elf turned around to face the older elf.

"Father, we caught these _shems_ trespassing in our ruins. They were stealing…" the young elf replied. So his name was Ronan. Tristan would remember it for future reference, when he taught the lout a lesson.

"There is nothing to steal in the ruins." His father interrupted him. "You were not even supposed to be there. I commanded you all not to go there. Did you want to get infected, like the others? Are you such a fool?"

This was good. Ronan was getting lectured by his father in front of his captives, in front of his friends. Ronan tensed, clearly agitated.

"They were stealing a piece of the broken mirror. Look!" Ronan turned around angrily to Tristan, who was still clutching the broken shard in the palm of his hand. Tristan held onto it tighter, cutting his palm. Ronan tried to pry it out but was having a hard time. "Give it up _shem_!"

Tristan couldn't help but laugh at the struggle on Ronan's face. Ronan fumed in anger. Unexpectedly, one of his followers kicked Tristan in the back, surprising him, and he let go of the shard. Ronan quickly grabbed it, displaying it for his father to see. Ronan's father stared at the shard and then turned to look at Tristan. He flinched for a second, as if recognizing him, and then turned to look at the other captives.

"Why have you bound the Dalish woman?" he asked Ronan, pointing at Ariane. Ronan looked at a loss for words.

"I… she is working with _shems_, why shouldn't I have?" Ronan defended himself.

"You are too eager for blood. Cut her loose," the father commanded the other elves. Without hesitation they went over to Ariane and cut off her bounds. Rubbing her wrists, she looked gratefully at the older elf, but he ignored her. Instead, he focused on the pile of confiscated weapons. Noticing Tristan's shield, he angrily grabbed Ronan and pulled him away to the side, out of everyone's hearing.

"You fool," he hissed at him. "One of these _shems_ is a Grey Warden."

"Wha…?

"The griffin shield, that is their emblem. That is all we need, the ire of the Grey Wardens." The father slapped Ronan in the back of the head and shoved him away. He came back towards the captives. "Cut their bounds, and bring them to the council fire, right away."

The other elves did as he said. Ronan stood far away, rubbing his head and glaring menacingly at the sight of his captives being freed. His father looked at Tristan and the others with warning. "Try anything, and you will be shot down quicker than you can finish your spell."

…

At the council fire, the three of them were seated across from a group of elves, elders this time. They were chattering amongst themselves, glancing curiously at the captives. Tristan had to rein in his impatience. He turned to Finn. "We should have acted when I still had the shard, shown these elves what real mages are made of."

Ariane hissed at him to stay quiet. "Don't do anything foolish. Let me do the talking."

The father of Ronan hushed everyone. "I am Keeper Silas. Who are you and why are you trespassing where you don't belong?"

"I am Ariane, of Keeper Solan's clan. This is Finn, and this is Tristan." Ariane replied, pointing out the captives as she said their names.

"Ah, yes, Solan. We ran into your clan not too long ago." Silas remarked.

"We thought you had moved north, out of Ferelden." Ariane recollected. Ronan came around at this time, stomping angrily to stand in the shadows behind the elders.

"We had for a while. The Blight and that cursed mirror drove us out. But we returned here, as we always do." Silas explained.

"You… had no mages to heal your people?" Ariane asked curiously. Her Keeper was a mage, as were all other Keepers she had ever met.

"Our clan has not seen a mage born to it for three generations. As such, we have chosen the best hunters to lead us. There was a mage born to us, before the Blight, but it was weak and died before it could even learn the ancient arts of our people; though we know hardly anything of them anymore…" Silas answered sorrowfully.

"That is a shame. Perhaps you should contact other clans more often." Ariane suggested.

"We are content with the way things are, to live in peace amongst ourselves, hidden in the forest. The gods may have forsaken us the use of magic, but there will come a time when they will return it to us." Silas replied. "Ariane, you have caused me to digress. You have not answered my question, why are you here?"

Ariane hesitated slightly and looked to Tristan for help. "Tell them," he said.

"It is because of the cursed mirror you speak of. It is an _Eluvian_, an ancient relic. We are searching for somebody, and we think she may be searching for an Eluvian that is not broken. We needed a piece of the broken mirror to find another one and thus the woman." Ariane explained.

"Child's tales." Ronan blurted from the shadows. "They are nothing but thieves."

"That is enough son! If you want to be useful, go find your mother and bring her here." Silas hissed at Ronan. Ronan reluctantly left the fire. Silas turned his attention back to the captives. "Now, tell me more of this Eluvian, and I will consider your request."


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Siofra was not aware of what she was doing. She walked around blindly, with Alim in her arms. She travelled the roads, the forest paths. She was lost. Her body was an empty and hopeless pit without Rory.

In her grief she became delirious. She began to think that Alim would be taken away from her. She wouldn't let that happen. In a sense of foreboding, she traced his delicate little face with designs favored by Mythal. And then, she made them into _vallaslin_. Alim cried out in pain. The cries broke through her delirium and tugged at her heart. She stopped, but Alim would have tattoos on one side of his face for the rest of his life. And if he got infected, then surely it would be a short one. Siofra panicked, cursing herself for an idiot. Unwittingly, she stumbled into Adalia's farmstead, a ragged and pitying sight.

Adalia, tending to her little flock of chickens, the only animals left to her after paying off her husband's debts, turned in surprise at the scuffling noise and the cloud of dust kicked up toward her.

"Siofra!" Adalia called out, dropping her bucket of chicken feed and running towards Siofra, the chickens squawking and scattering out of her way. She grabbed at Siofra's arm, steadying her. A rumble of thunder boomed in the sky above them. Adalia looked up; dark and ominous clouds began to cover the blue sky, the wind picking up, sending the dust twirling into the air, into their eyes. Turning to a blank faced Siofra, and then at the quiet Alim, Adalia began leading them towards the house. "You are just in time. Come inside, quickly."

…

A few days later, Adalia was outside, fetching water from the well. Siofra sat quietly under a large tree, Alim crawling around in the grass besides her. His face was bandaged, where Siofra had marked him. Adalia shook her head. What had Siofra been thinking? The tattoos would grow with the boy. Would they even be recognizable twenty years from now? Anyway, they were both safe. That was all that mattered, after what Siofra had told her. It had been hard to get anything out of her, but eventually, the girl had given in.

As Adalia was pondering the sad situation, she felt a set of arms embrace her from behind, a pair of hands rest gently on her stomach, and warm breath whisper onto her neck. _Alras_. For a moment, she closed her eyes and reveled in his touch, but remembering the presence of Siofra nearby, she turned around and untangled herself from his embrace. Alras smiled at her and attempted to move in for a kiss, but she stepped to the side.

"Alras, no." she pleaded quietly. Puzzled, Alras turned his attention to the well, beginning to pull up the bucket of water for Adalia.

"What is wrong?" he asked as he worked to bring up the bucket.

"Siofra has returned." Adalia answered, a look of sadness running across her face.

"Siofra!" Alras nearly dropped the bucket back into the well. He finished bringing it up and placed it on the ground. "Where is she?"

Adalia turned her gaze towards the tree where Siofra sat. Alras took in the sight of his wife's sister. She sat with her back against the tree, her knees huddled to her body, and tearing at the grass beside her. Alim, Alras noticed, had grown quite a bit since he had last seen the baby, and was crawling around in the grass, tearing at it just like his mother was, only he had a look of pure joy on his face.

Alras had been terribly worried about Siofra ever since she had run off to be with Rory. He had gotten an earful from Neria, who had nagged him incessantly for letting Siofra run off alone with a baby. He had kept his ears open wherever he went to trade, but had heard nothing, until a few weeks ago, when there were whispers of another escaped apprentice. Alras had considered making another trip to the Circle Tower, but he was sure that they wouldn't let him in this time. So, he had done nothing.

"What happened? Did she tell you?" Alras asked Adalia.

"She told me, yes. Rory did escape. They did reunite. But…" Adalia lowered her head.

"Where is Rory?" Alras feared he already knew the answer.

"He is dead, most likely." Adalia answered sadly. Alras cursed under his breath.

"What do you mean, _most likely_?"

"She just said… that there was blood everywhere but no bodies."

"By the gods… how is she?"

Adalia shook her head and shrugged. "She is… grieving I guess. I have tried to comfort her as best as I can. Oh Alras, go speak to her. She needs her family."

Alras sighed, gave Adalia's shoulder a squeeze and began the long walk toward Siofra. As he neared her, she looked up at him with the most pitiful look of sadness Alras had ever seen. He had to look away. He concentrated on Alim, who held his hands up toward Alras and made gurgling noises. Alras crouched down and patted Alim on the head. Alim had bandages on his face, Alras noticed as he picked up the baby. What was he going to say to Siofra? For the life of him, he couldn't find the words. But he didn't need to. When he returned his gaze to Siofra, she uttered the most heart wrenching plea.

"I want to go home," she said.

…

The smells and sounds of the forest reinvigorated her soul. She once again felt safe under the canopy of ancient and gnarled trees. There was still an emptiness inside of her but it no longer felt so wide and consuming. Siofra knelt onto the ground and filled her hands with the contents of the forest's floor. She was home. She needn't think of Rory as she saw him last, a dark shell of his usual self, fighting off Templars, thrusting her into the fast flowing river, a cruel betrayal that had probably saved her and Alim's life she realized now. Here, she could think of him as she knew and loved him best, as the sweet and fun-loving buffoon. However, as Neria came toward her, Siofra knew that all was not well, nor would it ever be. She would never be the same. She was home, but she wasn't, not without her clan.

Neria embraced her, tears of worry flooding over her cheeks. "Siofra, you… you idiot! You had me so worried!"

"Apologies, sister." Siofra managed to say through being smothered by Neria. Alras emerged from the path that Neria had just followed. He hovered in the background, leaving the two sisters to reunite, but also making sure that nobody from the village had followed them, his eyes darting around nervously.

"No worries. Never mind. I am sorry. For what you have been through. Where is your son?" Neria released Siofra and looked around for Alim, who lay sleeping in a basket on the side. Neria spotted him and went over to have a look at him. "Oh. He looks just like you… except for the ears. And he is huge."

Siofra's uncertainty about her future came flooding out in a burst of tears. Neria was right; Alim looked every bit like her, except for his ears. He was part human after all. She couldn't bring him home with her. What would her father do? But she wanted to go home, to return to her clan. She needed to. As much as she feared her father, she loved him too. She had disappointed him, she knew. That hurt her more than she had previously thought. He had only ever wanted the best for her and she had ignored him, threw his love back in his face and shamed him by falling in love with a human. Did she regret what had happened? No, she didn't. She loved Rory and would always love him. But he was gone. She was here. And now she was stuck. "Oh Neria, what am I to do?"

Neria sat speechless by Alim, regarding Siofra with pity. Neria just shook her head and shrugged. Siofra made her way over to Neria and clutched at her sister imploringly. "Please, you must tell me what to do! Tell me what to do!"

Neria could only rub her sister on the back and gently brush her hair from her face. She looked to Alras in the shadows, who came forward and took a seat by them.

"You know that you cannot easily come back to the clan. Not after running away. If father knew that we had a hand in helping you, he might throw us all out, for his shame would be too great. But it would be even greater if you came back with a half human baby." Neria explained, looking at Alim with pity.

"But I want to go home…" Siofra sobbed.

"Then you must give up your son." Neria whispered ever so gently, as if saying it aloud would harm Alim.

"No… no. I cannot." Siofra looked to Alras, beseeching him to suggest something else. But he quickly looked away, unable to meet her gaze. "Alras, there must be another way!"

"Siofra… there isn't. I'm sorry." Alras replied, not unkindly.

"Sister, listen to me. If you come back to the clan with your son born of a human father, that is if father lets you, then you will face a lifetime of shame and disaffection from the rest of the clan. You have done something that is considered one of the worst things for one of our people to do. And Alim, he will suffer for it also. He will never belong. He will be treated horribly, even worse than Alras is treated." Alras flinched at Neria's words, but nodded his agreement with them.

"Then what am I to do?" Siofra begged. The thought of giving up her son was making her sick. She struggled to compose herself. She tried to stop sobbing. She needed to think clearly. But she couldn't. She knew what Neria was saying was true, but refused to believe it.

"There is a chance that father will accept you back into the clan, if you come alone. You may face whispers and curious glances, but we can easily make up an excuse for your running off. Maybe you went off to seek the gods. Maybe you went to visit another clan. Whatever we make up, nobody will be the wiser. But if you come back with a baby… there is no hiding the truth." Neria continued, exposing the harsh truth of the situation.

"I cannot give up my baby." Siofra said, watching Alim sleep peacefully and calmly, as if nothing were wrong with the world.

"Then you will live the life of a wandering outcast, shunned by your clan, forgotten by the gods." Neria sternly reminded her. Siofra was torn. She had been willing to live that life with Rory. But he was gone. She didn't want that anymore. She wanted to be part of the clan again. She wanted to worship her gods in her forest. She wanted them to bless her once again. For they had left her, she was certain now, because she had left them, for a human. But Alim, he didn't deserve any of this. He deserved to grow up happily with a mother and a father. _He deserved to grow up with a mother… and a father._ He could never have that here. The truth of the matter finally sunk in. Siofra knew what she had to do.

"Then I will give up my son." Siofra declared, swallowing her sobs and placing a gentle hand on the forehead of her baby, Rory's baby.

"It will be for the best. Let him be raised among humans, where he will blend in. He is young yet, he will not remember anything that has happened." Neria tried to comfort Siofra as best she could.

"But who will take him?" Siofra wondered aloud. She didn't want to just leave him at an orphanage. He deserved a family, a loving family.

"What of… his father's… family? Perhaps they could take him in?" Neria suggested. Siofra thought about that for a moment. She remembered Rory telling her of his family. They lived in Lothering. They were good people. Perhaps they would take him in.

"It is possible… but I know next to nothing about them. What if they do not want to take him? What if they are gone?"

"If they are good people, they would not see their blood kin turned away." Neria reassured Siofra. But still, she was unsure of this. She looked to Alras.

"What do you think?" she asked him.

"At the very least, it is worth a shot. If they are still in Lothering, if they are good people, then at least he will be with family. If worst comes to worst, there are others that would take him in. Adalia…" Alras replied, but was cut off quickly by Neria.

"Siofra, you have little choice in the matter if you want to return to the clan. I am sure everything will work out just fine."

With tears in her eyes and her stomach in knots, Siofra relented. "Fine. I will give up my son. Alim deserves a better life than I could give him."

…

They agreed that it would be for the best if Alim was taken away sooner rather than later. Or rather, Neria and Alras agreed. Siofra cried and cried until her eyes were dry. And then, when she was alone, she held Alim and sung to him. And then she promised him that he would never miss her, for he would be too happy and have such loving… parents… that he would all but forget his Dalish mother. Except for the tattoos on his face. She realized now that she had known this separation would happen. Her son may forget her but the tattoos on his face would connect him to her forever. And perhaps, one day, they would meet again. She tried to console herself with this thought as she reluctantly handed Alim over to Alras. Alim made no fuss; he only smiled at his mother as the shadows of the forest swallowed him up.

…

Theron cursed as his apprentice dropped the hammer onto the ground. Irritated he told the young elf to go home for the day. The young elf only too gladly obliged and scurried off. Theron sighed as he leaned over to pick up the hammer. He had become impatient and cantankerous ever since Siofra had disappeared.

As he stood up, placing the hammer onto his work table, he blinked back a vision of Siofra standing before him. Only she did not disappear. She was actually there. She came toward him and kneeled before him in supplication.

"Father, forgive me. I am home." Siofra said.

Pushing back his disbelief and surprise, he bade her to arise. "Where have you been?"

"I have sought the gods and begged for their forgiveness, as I beseech you now for yours." Siofra lied. She hated starting off with a lie, but she couldn't very well tell him the truth of her whereabouts.

Theron scrutinized his daughter. She looked weary and sorrowful. He doubted the gods had given her what she claimed to have sought. He didn't even believe her answer of where she had been all this time. But she was there before him now, begging for his forgiveness. He enfolded her into his arms and welcomed her back to the clan and thought of how he would explain her disappearance to the rest of the clan.

…

Alras walked along the road to Lothering with Alim in his arms and a sack of trade goods on his back. The sun beat down on him, causing him to sweat profusely. _By the gods, it is hot today_. His arms grew tired and his back grew sore the longer he walked. He really should have borrowed a _halla_ and a cart for this. But no, it would have looked suspicious. He had never before used a _halla_ to go out trading.

Alim was growing restless under the sun. He began to squirm and fret. Alras gave him some water, but still, Alim fussed about. He wanted his mother, no doubt. Alras pulled out a necklace from his sack and dangled it in front of Alim. Transfixed, Alim grabbed the necklace and examined it curiously.

"Just don't choke on it, okay? That is all I need, to go home and have to explain _that_ to Neria and Siofra." Alras mused aloud as Alim attempted to put part of the necklace in his mouth. Alras quickly took it away and wrapped the cord around the large beads. "Don't need you to strangle yourself, either."

Alras decided to take a break as Alim began to cry. He clambered down from the road and took a seat among the lightly wooded area to the side. As he chewed on an apple and tried to distract Alim, Alras heard on the road above him sharp male voices.

"There is nobody on the roads today," one of them complained.

"Because it's too damn hot for anything," another replied sharply.

"Well, who we gonna rob then?" yet another one whined.

Alras tensed. _Bandits. _Great. That was just what he needed. In an attempt to quiet Alim, he shoved the bunched up necklace back into Alim's hands. It seemed to work. As the bandits continued to argue, Alras prayed that they would walk by without noticing him. He carefully placed Alim onto the ground and quietly arose. He wanted to see how many there were.

"Falon'Din give me fortune." Alras muttered as he leaned over the tree to glimpse the road. There were more than three bandits; there were half a dozen. Alras cursed under his breath. He stepped on a twig, which made a loud cracking sound. "Or not."

The bandits ceased their banter and shushed one another.

"Who's there?" one of them called out. Alras cursed his luck, and cursed the twig for making such a loud noise. He came out of hiding with his hands up to show he was unarmed. The bandits, who had been quite tense a moment ago, visibly relaxed and even laughed.

"Ah, it's only a knife-ear. What's a matter? You lost?" one of them taunted Alras. Alras quickly glanced behind him at Alim. The baby was sitting behind a stump, entranced by the necklace.

"Hey, is someone else there?" one of the bandits questioned Alras.

"No. It's just me." Alras replied. One of the bandits came down from the road and grabbed Alras roughly.

"You got anything valuable on you?" he demanded of Alras, getting right into his face. Alras had to hold his breath, for the man's breath was rancid and disgusting.

"Bring him up here, we can have some fun wit em," said a large bandit, probably the leader of the hooligans. There was no way Alras was going to go up there and let them "have fun" with him. No way. Never. He wrenched his arm out of the bandit's grasp.

"Look, I'll give you all my goods if you just let me go." Alras suggested.

"What goods? You have nothing but your own pretty self. Maker, these elves, they're just as good as women, look at his long, silky hair." the lead bandit laughed. The others laughed with him. The bandit nearest to Alras tried to grab him again but Alras dodged him.

"I swear to you I have some goods, behind the tree. I am going to get them and you can have them, if you let me go."

The lead bandit considered Alras's words for a second. Alras grew impatient and leaped behind the tree. He grabbed his sack of goods, and making sure Alim was still there, he returned to the bandits. He climbed up onto the road and threw the sack at the leader.

"Here. Now go." Alras said. He hoped he sounded more forceful than he felt. He was outnumbered. He could only hope they would just take his things and leave. The only comfort he felt at that moment was the thought of the dagger hidden in his boot. Luckily, he hadn't removed his boots though he had badly wanted to, with the stifling heat.

The bandits all jumped at his sack like a pack of starving wolves. As they rifled through it, Alras bent down to grab the dagger from his boot. When they were done going through his sack, the leader turned toward him.

"There's nothing much in here. Why should we let you go?"

He should have run when he had the chance. But there was Alim to consider. He didn't want the bandits to know the baby was there. Who knows what they would do to him? Sell him off to an Orlesian slave trader?

The lead bandit motioned for two bandits to restrain Alras. Well then, this was it, he had to fight them off. As the two bandits neared him, he revealed his dagger. They stopped short in their tracks and looking to their leader, laughed.

"The knife ear wants a fight? Well, let's give it to him." The bandit leader motioned for one of the bandits to stop and the other to move forward. "Duel then."

Alras prepared himself. He circled the bandit, readying himself to strike. The bandit had an unfair advantage though, he carried a longsword. The bandit took a swing at him, but Alras jumped to the side, avoiding the blade. Alras then moved in swiftly to the bandit and stabbed at his side. The dagger merely grazed the bandit's ribs. But it was enough to anger the bandit, who took another swing at Alras. Alras, however, was too quick and managed to dodge the blows each time. The bandit grew frustrated, his companions laughing cruelly at him and mocking him. Finally, after dancing around the bandit, Alras was able to get in a good shot; he plunged the dagger into the bandit's neck and blood squirted everywhere. The other bandits, shocked that their companion had actually lost the fight, grew angry.

"Well, this wasn't supposed ta happen," the leader said, sighing. He kicked at his dead companion's legs, then looked at Alras with malice. "Now you die."

The bandit leader snapped his fingers and immediately, two bandits in the back of him readied their bows with arrows and took aim at Alras.

"Shit." Out of breath and tired from his fight, all Alras could do was stand there and await his fate. He said a quick prayer to Mythal to protect Alim and then he was knocked backwards by the force of the arrows hitting his chest.

…

"Why have we stopped?" Sister Anaïs called out from the carriage. The Templars escorting her poked their swords at the bandit lying in the middle of the road.

"He's dead," declared the Templar. They went over to the elf lying nearby, a couple of arrows sticking out of his chest, blood soaking the road underneath him.

"If he's alive, then I'm a unicorn," said the other Templar. Sister Anaïs climbed out of the carriage and walked over to the Templars. She looked at the bloody mess in the road with revulsion.

"Sister, you should go back in the carriage. There has been a bandit attack."

"Obviously." she retorted. The Templar sighed. These Orlesian noblewomen were so very annoying. He wondered why they ever became chantry sisters. "Is he alive?"

One of the Templars bent down to feel the pulse on the elf. Amazingly, it was still there, but barely. "He will soon be dead."

A soft wail arose from the forest to the side. The horses pulling the carriage pricked back their ears. "Is that a baby?" Sister Anaïs began walking toward the forest. The Templars arose, rolling their eyes. She was a handful, this sister. She never heeded their warnings of danger. She placed way too much trust in the Maker's protection.

"Sister, it isn't safe anymore. There may be more bandits around…" but Sister Anaïs continued to the forest, climbing down from the road. To the Templars' surprise, there was indeed a baby below. He sat in the grass, clutching at something, and wailing softly. Sister Anaïs bent over and picked him up. She walked back toward the road.

"Rouse the elf." She commanded the Templars.

"Whatever for?" one of the Templars dared question her.

"Just do it." She hissed back.

The other Templar poked and prodded the elf with his sword. It was no use, he wouldn't wake up.

"We should just put him out of his misery," suggested the Templar. Annoyed, Sister Anaïs grabbed the flask of water at the Templar's waist and emptied it onto the elf's face. While holding the baby, she slapped the elf's face a couple of times. Finally, the elf seemed to open his eyes. He looked confused and dazed. He struggled to breathe. Blood squirted out of his arrow wounds and his mouth each time he took a breath.

"Who does this baby belong to?" she demanded of the elf. He seemed not to know what she was talking about and moaned in pain. She placed the baby directly in his line of sight. The baby smiled and stopped crying at the sight of the elf. The elf lifted his hand slowly and placed it on the baby's face. Something came out of his mouth. "What did you say?"

The elf ignored Sister Anaïs as his body shuddered in pain. The elf's labored breath came one last time and as he exhaled, his vivid green eyes rolled into the back of his head and he died. Sister Anaïs sighed and gently closed the elf's eyes.

"Did any of you imbeciles hear what he said?" she asked as she arose from the elf's side.

"I didn't." said the younger Templar.

"I'm pretty sure I heard _Amell_. That must be the baby's family." The other Templar replied.

Sister Anaïs tickled the baby, whose face was bandaged. "Well, we will bring the baby with us to Denerim. If nobody claims him, then the orphanage will take him in."

Sister Anaïs climbed back into the carriage with the baby and ordered the Templars to move forward. As the carriage rocked forward, she admired the baby. He was so adorable. If only she hadn't taken vows to become a chantry sister, she would have taken the baby and raised him as her own. Instead, she decided to give him a name, though it might only be temporary, if his family came to claim him after all. She called him Tristan, for she found his situation full of sadness.

"Tristan Amell," Sister Anaïs said aloud as she tickled the baby, who laughed as if there were nothing wrong with the world.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Siofra crouched over the silently rippling stream, dragging a wooden cup through the water to collect the precious liquid. As she did so, she caught a glance of her reflection. Her face was slightly weathered by age and hardship, but she looked no worse for wear. Her once golden hair was kept pulled back into a bun, streaked here and there by bits of grey but otherwise changed into a dull yellow. The sparkling blue of her eyes were the only features to look untouched by time. She was just over four decades old now. As she stood up, slowly, her back pulled and she clutched at it. She was not as fluid and spritely as she used to be.

"_Mamae_," a voice called out. She turned around to see her son, Ronan. With the exception of his eyes, which he had inherited from Siofra, he looked every bit like his father. His shoulder-length light brown hair was pulled back into a knot. He was lean but powerful, and a swift and deadly hunter. Most of the time, he put on a show of bravado, swaggering to and fro around the clan with a self-satisfied smirk on his face, just as his father had done in his youth, but with his mother, he was gentle, caring, and kind. Siofra wished he would be like this towards everyone, but she guessed being the Keeper's son meant something different to him than it did to her. He helped her to straighten up. "You are needed by the council fire."

"What for?" Siofra asked.

"We have… visitors." Ronan replied. He was still angry that his captives were now being treated with respect which they didn't deserve, seeing as they were trespassing into his clan's territory, and stealing from his clan no less. Although why they wanted a piece of that cursed mirror, Ronan couldn't even begin to fathom and he didn't believe their explanation.

Siofra sighed. She suddenly felt very tired. Silas only ever wanted her around for show. She was never asked to speak for herself when visitors came. The sun was setting; darkness was awash over the sky. "At this late hour?"

Ronan chuckled. "Yes, mother, at this late hour."

Siofra sighed again. "Very well then. Who are they?"

"One appears to be a Grey Warden, another is a mage, and there is a Dalish woman with them as well. Not to mention a mabari mutt." Ronan shook his head at the last mention. Mabaris, they were no good for nothing hounds. Wolves, they made better companions.

"An odd assortment," Siofra mused. She had to admit, her curiousity was piqued. What would that motley crew be doing here? She pushed her tiredness to the back of her consciousness. "Now then, let's not keep your father waiting any longer."

They set off towards the central fire, Ronan linking his arm into his mother's.

…

When they arrived at the fire, Ronan sat his mother at his father's side and stood behind them in the shadows, his wolf companion by his side. Siofra took a quick glance at the three visitors across the fire. It was hard to view them all. The mage was seated clumsily on a log, picking frantically at a thread on his robes, as if he wanted to desperately sew it back in. The Dalish woman wore a nice looking set of elven armor and looked annoyed by the mage's fiddling. The other man, his face lay partially in the shadows and Siofra could not get a good look at him. He must be the Grey Warden. She nodded a greeting at Silas and noticed a shard of a mirror lying in front of him ominously. Ronan had mentioned to her on the way over that the visitors had been caught trying to take a piece of the shard away with them.

"My wife," Silas acknowledged her.

"Greetings, I am Ariane." The Dalish warrior woman replied in Siofra's direction. She was going to say something more, but the Grey Warden in the shadows cut her off with a curt but commanding "Enough."

Siofra's heart skipped a beat as her mind flicked back to a time long ago, to a memory of the man she had loved more than anything and still did. The voice of this Grey Warden was eerily similar to that of a frustrated Rory. The Warden moved slightly forward, enough that he was a little more visible than before. Siofra's heart hammered against her chest as again memories of Rory flashed through her mind. This man, his movements were so like Rory's. His face, oh why couldn't she see his face? She strained her eyes to see through the fire. A glint of the Warden's hair lighted up as he turned his attention toward Ariane. It was the same color as a golden flame. Like her father. He leaned into the light of the fire and Siofra nearly fainted as his face became visible. His eyes – they were exactly the same color as her own, as Ronan's. If she hadn't just seen her reflection, she might not have noticed that he had similar facial features to herself. She blinked back her confusion – this couldn't be… could it? No, surely she was being a fanciful old woman. She was tired, her mind was playing tricks on her.

"We need to be on our way. I don't mean to be impolite but I am a Grey Warden and I have something very important to do. I need that shard. So if you could just give me that piece of broken mirror, we will be on our way and we will never come back to this forest again," the Warden said impatiently.

"You say you are a Grey Warden, but you are also a mage. And that man is a mage too. How are we to trust that you are not going to use this shard to do harm to our people? We broke that mirror for a reason." Silas prodded the Warden, his gaze lingering on the man with cool severity. The Warden sighed in frustration and leaned back into the shadows again. Siofra was shaking. The Warden was a mage?

"Keeper," Ariane interjected quickly, "I promise you that no harm will come to your people. Do you think I would be following this man if I thought so?"

Silas kept his gaze trained on the Warden, but acknowledged Ariane's words with a slight shake of his head.

Ariane continued, "We are both searching for a woman. A woman who has stolen something of importance from my people."

"And why would a Grey Warden help you?" Ronan interrupted from the shadows.

"It is none of your business." The Warden replied gruffly.

"Then why do you need this shard?" Ronan ventured further, stepping out from the shadows.

"It is none of your business." The Warden repeated. Ronan stepped closer to the Warden. Ariane's eyes darted back and forth between the two. Silas remained silent, content to let his son question the visitors, though if he tried to harm him, he would have to stop this. It wouldn't do to anger the Grey Warden order. The gods know Ronan had already done enough earlier, though at the time his son didn't know who and what he had captured. The Warden stood up. Siofra noted how tall he was, but she couldn't see him any better as Ronan was blocking her view.

"I didn't want to play this card, but clearly, we are getting nowhere and I need to be on my way." The Warden stared down at Ronan. The mage in robes sighed in relief and muttered something under his breath. Ariane glared at him. "I am the Commander of the Grey Wardens. I have permission from King Alistair to go where I wish and do what I wish. So you will let me go, now."

There was a short silence as the elves around the fire let this new information sink in. And then Ronan burst into laughter. "_You_, you are… the 'hero' of Ferelden stumbled into my trap? I think not, you are a liar."

The Warden scowled at Ronan. Silas rose and inserted himself between the two. He looked to Ariane for confirmation. She nodded. Siofra couldn't believe it. She had heard of the Warden Commander. He was an Amell, like Rory. But he couldn't be Alim, could he? There were many Amells, it was a common enough surname. Wasn't it? She couldn't sit idle anymore; she stood up and walked toward the Warden, pushed her way past Silas and Ronan and stopped directly in front of the Warden. She looked up at him. She took a deep breath and nearly burst into tears as she noticed the faded tattoos on his face. She clutched at his chin, surprising everyone, including the Warden. This was her son; this was Alim.

"Mother…" Ronan started to protest.

"You are an Amell, are you not?" Siofra asked the Warden, ignoring Ronan's protests.

"Yes. I am Tristan Amell." The Warden replied, confusion on his face. So, he didn't have the name he was given, but he was her son. Rory's son. She let go of him, struggling to keep calm. As far as everyone knew, Ronan was her only child. She walked over to the shard, picked it up and brought it back to Tristan. She took his hand and placed the shard in it.

"The one who ended the Blight… deserves much more than this, but it is all we can offer right now." Siofra explained. Tristan regarded her with a puzzled, but grateful look on his face. Oh, he reminded her so much of Rory.

"Thank you," he said.

"Mother, what are you doing?" Ronan demanded, his arms up in the air. Siofra patted him on the shoulder in a gesture of reassurance. Ronan looked to Silas for some kind of sign of disapproval. All he saw was a curious look on Silas's face.

"My wife is right to give this gift to the Warden Commander. Let us speak no more of this. This council is over. The Warden and his companions may leave if they wish to." Silas waved everyone away. Ronan stood fuming.

"That's it, you're just going to let them leave, unpunished?" Ronan demanded of his father. Silas ignored him and left the fire. Siofra stood frozen by the fire, unable to move. Tristan motioned for his companions to get up.

"Our weapons? The hound?" Tristan demanded of Ronan.

"Please, stay the night." Siofra offered instead. Tristan turned his attention to her. He seemed to deliberate about what to do. He turned to his companions. The robed mage shrugged.

"There's no harm in a little rest, I say." Ariane spoke up.

"Fine." Tristan agreed. "But keep us away from your son. I don't trust him."

"Bah, that won't be a problem." Ronan said as he stomped away from the fire, the wolf loping after him.

…

Siofra couldn't sleep. Her son, _her son_, was close by for the first time in a long, long time. There was no one she could share her joy with. He was alive. She had thought him dead all these years.

She had been young and stupid. She had thought giving him up was for the best. But when Alras never returned and when they had brought back his dead body, she feared that Alim was dead, too. She cursed herself. She regretted sending him away. She felt horrible inside. She felt guilty. Alras had died because of her stupidity and she thought that maybe even her son, the only thing she had of Rory, was dead too. Neria had been angry with her, understandably. Her husband was dead, because of Siofra. They had grieved in silence. Siofra had hoped with all her heart that Alim had made it to Lothering. She was never able to find out the truth of the matter, until now, and thanks to an almost ridiculous stroke of good luck. Imagine, her younger son capturing her long lost son. The world worked in mysterious ways sometimes.

Siofra sat under her mother's tree, contemplating this good luck. She thought about everyone who knew her secret – Neria, Alras, and Adalia. Neria had died from the Blight sickness almost two years ago. She had remained a widow after Alras's death, which was a surprise to everyone. Adalia, she didn't know what had become of her. She had never gone back to the farmstead. Theron, who knew of Rory but not of their son, he had died a long time ago, ravaged by an illness that swept through her clan. Her clan had gone through much since then, moving around, leaving the forest after the mirror was found inside the very ruins she had hidden Rory in. It had not been there when they were there. It was cursed. It had brought monsters into the forest and killed two of their hunters. No, there was no one she could share her joy with. All who knew her secret were gone.

Her heart ached. All she wanted to do was gather Alim in her arms and tell him of Rory, his father. But she didn't know what he would say. She didn't know her son. Did he even care about his past? Had he lived a good life? Perhaps he would be angry with her. She knew that he was a good person. She could feel it. He had saved Ferelden. He was a hero. Perhaps it _was_ worth giving him up if this was the result of her actions. Rory, no doubt, would have been proud.

Siofra didn't know what to do. Alim, or Tristan as he was called now, was a grown man. He was an important person. He seemed to be on an important quest of sorts. Should she tell him the truth? Perhaps she should wait a little longer.

…

Tristan tossed and turned on the hard ground, unable to rest easily. He didn't trust Ronan. The young elf was brash and cocky. Who knew what he would do to save face now that his father had let his captives go freely. He was brash, yes, but was he stupid? Tristan couldn't wait to leave this place.

And there was Silas's wife. She had made him terribly uneasy, the way she looked at him, the way she had stared and clutched at his face. He had felt like she was seeing deep into his soul. Yet, there was something familiar about her. He couldn't quite grasp what it was. She had given him the shard and gotten him out of this mess. Why had she been the only one to trust him? It was all too much for him. His thoughts would not turn off and his head ached. He needed to find Morrigan. This hunt was proving to be more complicated than he thought. Maybe, he thought as he finally drifted into a fitful sleep, maybe he should never have opened that letter from Alistair in the first place.

…

"What now?" Ariane asked the next morning.

"We have the shard of the Eluvian, but we still need the lights of Arlathan. We should head to Cadash thaig when you're ready to leave." Finn suggested as Tristan checked over Loki, making sure he had been treated right. When he was satisfied, he stood up.

"Yes, let's go to Cadash thaig." Tristan agreed. "The sooner the better."

"But, we should at least thank the clan for their help." Ariane advised, or at least attempted to as Tristan began walking to the village's exit. He turned around and gave Ariane an unconcerned but furious look.

"Why should we? They treated us like garbage. If I hadn't played the Grey Warden card, and then since that wasn't even enough, the hero card, we would be left with nothing. And where would your own clan be? Huh?" Tristan angrily remarked.

"Apologies," said Silas's wife, coming over to them. "My son can be a bit… headstrong at times. He is yet young; he will hopefully learn better manners."

Somehow, Tristan didn't believe that could happen. Silas had, after all, allowed all this to happen. If Ronan was anything like his father, then there was no hope for him at all. But Tristan could care less; he would never see this place again.

"Anyway, I guess since you are here, we can at least thank you again, for resolving things for us, and letting us have the shard." Ariane offered. Tristan grunted his agreement. Ariane looked disapprovingly at Tristan. He was being awfully rude. Silas's wife didn't seem to mind, however, for she only laughed sweetly. "We never got your name, lady."

"I am Siofra," she replied. She turned to Tristan. "Before you leave, I would ask for a moment alone with you."

"Fine." Tristan assented. Siofra made her way to the edge of the forest and then stopped. Tristan followed her slowly. He wondered what she wanted. Probably a favour. Well, he would grant whatever she wanted and be off.

Siofra noticed the impatience of Tristan. He was distracted and looked weary. She noticed a deep cut in the palm of his hand. "You are hurt?"

"What?" Tristan asked as Siofra took his hand in her own. "Oh, that is nothing. I forgot about it."

"I will fix it." Siofra said, but Tristan pulled back.

"Thank you, but I can deal with it later." Tristan shifted uncomfortably on his feet. Siofra accepted his wishes. He was a mage, he probably had healing magic. If not him, then the one named Finn probably did. She was acting foolish, too familiar with him. He must think her odd.

Siofra had wanted to tell him that he was her son, but now she thought better of it. This quest he was on, it needed to be finished. She could tell that his mind was not at ease. She didn't want to burden him further. "When you are done whatever you are doing, I should like it if you came back to see me."

Well, this was unexpected. Tristan was puzzled. "Why?"

"There is something I need to tell you. You do not have the time right now, I can see that. So I beg of you, come when you are done searching for this woman."

Tristan hesitated. What was so important that she couldn't just tell him now? He really did not want to come back to this place. He'd had enough of Ronan and feared he would throttle the elf if he ever came across his smug face again. "You cannot just tell me now?"

"I'd rather not. I'd rather wait. Promise me you will come back." Siofra looked at him pleadingly. He could see her much clearer than the night before. He noticed her eyes. So that was where Ronan got them. They were such a unique shade of blue, similar to his own.

"Then, if it means that much to you, I promise. I will come back." Tristan relented. Siofra smiled her approval and much to Tristan's surprise, grabbed a hold of him and gave him a hug.

"_Ma serannas_," she whispered in his ear and then let him go. "Until we meet again. Mythal protect you."

"Um, goodbye." Tristan waved, perplexed and went to rejoin Finn, Ariane, and Loki. Finn and Ariane looked equally confused.

"What was that about?" Finn asked.

Tristan shrugged. "Let's just go."


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

The four of them found themselves deep in the underground – the deep roads. They had been travelling through dark and rocky tunnels when finally they entered into a large cavern, the rocky ceiling extending far above them. Tristan called for a halt.

"It's hard to breathe with all this stone around me. I… I hope this is all in my head." Finn complained. "Wait, why did we stop? Is this Cadash thaig?"

"Yes, I've been here before." Tristan replied, taking in the sight of the crumbling dwarven ruins. He had come here with Shale, the golem.

"Right so I've… er, been going through my old notes. Hmm." Finn hesitated.

"And?" Tristan asked, lifting an eyebrow questioningly in Finn's direction.

"And I came across this footnote. Apparently the elves would magically conceal relics of great significance, thus shielding them from unworthy eyes. And given what the Tevinters did, I'd say they count as unworthy." Finn explained himself.

"You don't say." Ariane sarcastically cut in.

"So the lights of Arlathan are under this enchantment?" Tristan asked.

"That's my hypothesis… But they might just be buried in the ground, too. Actually, that's very likely. It looks like Cadash thaig was built on the ruins of Cad'halash. The lights of Arlathan could be _miles_ below us." Finn looked curiously at the ground below them. Tristan and Ariane followed his gaze. They were already deep underground. It was hard to imagine there could be anything else deeper.

"I liked the other theory more." Ariane said as she tapped the ground with her foot.

"If the elves concealed the relics with magic, only the blood of their kin will reveal them." Finn continued, unperturbed by Ariane's concern. He turned to look at her then. "Ariane… we need your blood."

"Excuse me?" Ariane asked, unsure of whether or not she was hearing things. Tristan was puzzled too. _Did Finn say he needed Ariane's blood?_

"Just a few drops, that's it!" Finn exclaimed in response.

Tristan gathered his thoughts. Finn had led them this far. The mage was a walking encyclopedia. Surely he knew what he was doing. Tristan turned to Ariane and gave her a pleading look. "Ariane, please. It might help us."

Ariane continued to look dumbfounded. She shifted uncomfortably on her feet. "Why do you need _my_ blood?"

"You share the same blood as the Arlathan elves, so you're the only one this enchantment might recognize." Finn explained.

Ariane considered this for a moment. "Fine, just because hearing that gets me all tingly. A few drops."

"I'll… be gentle." Finn said as he took out a small knife. He walked over to Ariane and made a cut in the palm of her hand.

"Ah!" Ariane cried out.

"My spell will reveal the vortices of magic. Standing in them should allow us to see the energy being drawn to the relics, which will lead us to them. Once we reach the influence of the lights of Arlathan, Ariane's blood will reveal them. But we have to be close." Finn enlightened his companions.

"Well what are we standing around waiting for? Let's go." Tristan took off quickly, leaving the others to scramble to catch up. They crossed a large stone bridge. They reached some sort of ruins, stone statues standing around the mossy ground. Finn, mesmerized by the history and mysteries the old statues held, momentarily wandered away to examine them, muttering to himself. Ariane looked back toward him as Tristan continued forward, determined to end the hunt once and for all.

"Finn!" Ariane shouted. Finn reluctantly left the statues to follow his companions.

They reached what looked like the remains of the old dwarven city. Shrieks came howling out of nowhere, attacking them. Caught off guard, they were momentarily beaten back by the shrieks, but that didn't last long as Tristan and Ariane cut through the monsters.

"There's probably more darkspawn around, we should be more careful." Tristan warned the others, catching his breath. "That should have been obvious from the beginning. You have my apologies."

Loki began barking furiously as dozens of deep stalkers appeared from within the old ruins. They crawled viciously towards the companions, bearing their teeth, preparing to jump onto the intruders. Before they could get any closer, however, Tristan cast a knockback spell, which caused the creatures to fall back. They were easily dispatched after that.

"Er, this whole adventuring business is ruining my immaculately clean robes." Finn remarked as he shook his hands of the gore that had splattered toward him. He had a disgusted look on his face. Ariane chuckled as she took in the sight.

"What are those white lights? They weren't here last time I was here." Tristan asked as he viewed an eerie white light in the center of the old square, pulsing and twirling in an upwards direction. Finn turned his attention to the light, excitement visible on his face.

"We have to step into them!" he said, walking over to the light. Tristan and Ariane followed.

"Is it safe?" Tristan inquired as he lifted a finger toward the light, but held back at touching it.

"It should be." Finn answered. He stepped into the light. Nothing happened. "Come on!"

The others joined him. The light seemed to hum and they saw in the distance a series of circular white lights moving in a path towards something far away.

"They are showing us the path. We have to follow it!" Finn said excitedly. He stepped out of the light and began walking toward where the path of lights had been headed. Tristan, Ariane, and Loki quickly followed.

"Finn, wait!" Tristan warned as he felt his blood boil at the presence of darkspawn. Hurlocks came running into their path, brandishing their ghastly axes and swords. Finn stopped, his excitement turning to horror as the hurlocks surrounded him. Quickly gathering his wits, he cast a freeze spell on a few of the hurlocks and was able to step out of harm's way. Tristan and Ariane caught up and began battling the darkspawn. Tristan casted a stonefist spell, shattering one of the hurlocks to pieces and then began battling another with his sword. Ariane knocked one over with her shield, and then slashed it to pieces with her sword. Loki pounced on top of another, gnawing and clawing at its face. Soon enough, that part of the ancient thaig was cleared of darkspawn. Tristan glared at Finn. "I told you to be careful."

"Sorry, I got distracted." Finn replied apologetically.

"Too much excitement for you, Finn?" Ariane teased.

Finn frowned. "Let's just follow the path. I'll follow you this time."

They continued to where they had seen the path of lights ending. The presence of Ariane led to a lantern filled with the same white light appearing out of nowhere.

"It's a light of Arlathan!" Finn exclaimed. But their excitement was cut short as an elf wearing ancient armor appeared as well, attacking them. The ancient elven guardian was quick and an excellent swordsman. He fought them off bravely, knocking them backward and seeming to be unaffected by any spells. But after their surprise wore off, the companions managed to gain the upper hand and they defeated the guardian.

"It's a shame we had to kill him. I would have liked to speak with the guardian." Ariane said sorrowfully as she looked at the dead guardian.

"I am surprised it attacked you." Tristan remarked to Ariane. "In any case, let's find the other lights and get this scrying ritual over with."

Knowing what to expect now, the four of them were no longer taken by surprise. Though Finn kept wandering off to examine the old city and the battles with darkspawn and deep stalkers was tiring and not at all easy, they found the rest of the lights and fought off the rest of the guardians.

Finn suggested they find a proper place for the scrying ritual. After they found a large open area, Finn then warned them that the ritual might attract unwanted attention. They needed to protect him while he was doing the ritual, otherwise it might fail. So they stood around him and prepared for the inevitable. Finn began waving his arms in the air and as soon as he began, the shades came up from the ground, trying to get at him. But Tristan, Ariane, and Loki fought them off. It went on like this for a while. Finally, when Finn was done, he fainted to the ground. The others went over to check on him.

"Phew! Am I bleeding?" Finn asked tiredly, checking himself out to see if he was hurt. "Oh look, a rip in my robe."

Ariane rolled her eyes in annoyance and then mocked Finn. "What happened to, 'Ariane give us your blood. Who cares if it hurts?'"

"It's… my blood. That's different." Finn defended himself. Tristan helped him up from the ground.

"Did the ritual work?" he asked Finn.

Finn nodded. "I've pinpointed another Eluvian. It's in the Dragonbone Wastes. The Tevinters probably moved it there to see if the ancient dragon bones could enhance the Eluvian's power."

Tristan was amazed by Finn's abilities, but he was a little wary. He had been to the Dragonbone Wastes before. He didn't remember seeing any mirror. He said as much to Finn, who only shrugged.

"It might be hidden… or only appear to those who know its location."

Tired but anxious to see this hunt for Morrigan come to an end, and feeling that it would soon come to an end, Tristan pushed them onwards. "We should set off immediately."

He began walking away, searching for an exit from the old thaig.

"Shall we?" Finn said, still standing around.

…

It took them a few days to reach the Dragonbone Wastes. They had to emerge from the Deep Roads and then travel overland to their destination. Though they were tired, Tristan had pushed forward with determination. He did not force them to such a quick pace, but not wanting to be left behind, they had followed him unquestioningly. When they finally reached the old graveyard of dragons, it was dark, the moonlight shining the path forward to the old Tevinter ruins.

Picking their way through dragon bones and carcasses, they ran into a few dragonlings. They were not surprised by any of the creatures, as each time one neared, Loki growled menacingly, sensing their presence. But they were, however, surprised by the number of cultists who appeared from the wastes, unwilling to talk and only wanting to get rid of the intruders. So, the companions fought their way through the wastes, fending off deranged dragon cultists, dragonlings, and even a drake. It was nothing new to Tristan; he had battled creatures like this before. They were dispatched easily, though it was tiresome and drove his level of impatience through the roof. Somehow he knew Morrigan was nearby. He raced forward, intending to find her.

At the end of the wastes and at the entrance to the Tevinter ruins, Tristan stopped short in his tracks. There was something odd crouching on a crumbling old tower. It watched them carefully, a silhouette in front of the moon. The creature was large, with four very long legs digging into the roof of the tower. Its body and head resembled that of a lizard. The others followed Tristan's gaze.

"What… what is that?" Finn asked.

Ariane sucked in her breath in surprise. "Could it be? It looks like a _varterral_. The gods created these creatures to guard the elves and their most treasured artifacts. I thought… I thought it was only a legend!"

The varterral began to move its skinny legs. Its body ducked, as if it was preparing to leap off of the roof.

"It's… not going to attack us is it?" Finn asked nervously.

Tristan clutched at his sword. "I don't think it cares that Ariane is with us."

The varterral jumped off of the old tower onto the empty space in front of them. It walked slowly to the center and then let out a terrible screech, piercing through the night. It made its way toward them, looking vicious and ready for a fight.

"Now that's a big lizard…" Tristan remarked, readying himself to fight. "Kill it!"

Tristan ran toward the varterral, swinging for its legs. The others followed. Ariane tried to do the same, but the varterral was quick, dodging their swings. Finn stayed far away, casting spells from afar. They seemed to do little to slow the creature down. Loki managed to leap onto the varterral's back, but the creature shook the hound off violently. Loki landed far away on the ground, whimpering. The varterral stood far away from them now, seeming to taunt them from afar with its piercing screeches.

"We barely made a dent in the creature!" Ariane gasped.

The flapping of wings made them all turn around. As if the varterral wasn't enough, two small dragons, males most likely, came charging toward them. "Take care of the dragons." Tristan commanded. He would deal with the varterral. Ariane ran off to shield Finn from one of the dragons. Loki, no longer whimpering on the ground, stood up and attacked the other dragon.

Tristan ran for the varterral. The creature spat out glowing blue goo in Tristan's path, causing him to slip and fall on his back. Tristan cursed as the varterral came leaping through the air towards him, its large front claws, sharp like daggers, pointing menacingly at him. He cast a lightning bolt at the creature and then rolled out of the goo. The varterral hissed angrily and landed on nothing.

Now behind the varterral, Tristan managed to stab it several times in the back legs, before it turned around and swatted him to the ground. Then it disappeared. Picking himself up off the ground, he looked around for the creature. He saw Ariane fighting off the remaining dragon, dodging its fiery breath just in time. He spotted the varterral in the opposite corner, Loki clawing frantically at it. Tristan made his way over. The varterral screamed, a pulse of purple energy flowing from its mouth and hitting Loki. Loki scampered backwards, whimpering in pain.

Tristan took the opportunity to cast another spell, a freeze spell this time. The varterral was momentarily frozen. Tristan jumped onto the creature's back, amazed that he had been able to jump that high. Jumping was not his specialty after all, especially not in this armor. Trying to gain his balance, he stabbed at the varterral's body. The creature did not shatter, but quickly came back to life, roaring eerily and trying to shake off Tristan.

It happened so fast. Tristan was tossed off the creatures back, hitting the ground hard. He lost his breath for a moment. The varterral clambered over to him, weakened finally, but still vicious. The varterral lifted his leg high up in the air and brought it down just as fast, aiming for Tristan's heart. In a flash, Tristan brought his sword up in a wide arc, severing the leg before it could cut through his chest. With a roar, Tristan arose from the ground. The varterral screeched in pain, his neck falling down to Tristan's level. Tristan stabbed it repeatedly. The roars of the varterral slowly came to an end as it stopped struggling. Tristan removed his sword one last time and the varterral stumbled backward, and then fell forward to the ground. Tristan had to roll out of the way.

Tristan lay gasping on his back. One more obstacle was removed from his way. That was a hard fight. One of the more challenging ones he had had in a long while. He suddenly laughed, pleased that he still had the skills that had laid waste to an archdemon. Ariane, Finn, and Loki came over to him. Ariane offered her hand. He took it and dragged himself up. He was covered in goo and gore. Loki whimpered over to him and began licking the mess off him. Normally, he didn't like being licked by dogs, but this time he let the dog clean him up.

"Good job." Tristan congratulated the others as he took in the sight of the dead dragons. "Anybody need healing?"

…

After taking a bit of a breather, to rest and patch up their minor wounds, they continued on into the Tevinter ruins. Travelling through it they encountered no further monsters or crazy cultists. Tristan led them down deep into the caverns, where he had defeated the Mother a year ago. If the mirror was around somewhere, then it had to be this deep. They followed the rocky path, crossing on a narrow natural bridge. In the distance, Tristan spotted a mirror, flanked by two stone statues, like the one in the elven ruins, only this mirror was glowing, and it was purple. His heart beat nervously as he recognized Morrigan standing in front of it. He stopped suddenly. Ariane and Finn nearly ran into him. Loki, recognizing Morrigan as well, charged up to the mirror, wagging his tail and jumping at Morrigan. Finn noticed the mirror.

"The Eluvian, and its glowing… we should…" he said excitedly. Ariane shushed him, noticing Morrigan and noticing the way Tristan tensed. Morrigan patted Loki and then looked toward Tristan.

"I think she's expecting you." Ariane whispered to Tristan. Loki came running back to Tristan, barking excitedly. As Tristan moved forward, Ariane reminded him about the book.

So, this was it. The hunt was coming to a close. Rather than feeling relieved, Tristan felt anxious. He had thought of what he would say to Morrigan, but everything escaped him now. Coming face to face with her again was almost too much. She had caused him so much… pain, but all the fight had suddenly drained from him as he glimpsed her face again. She stood perched on stairs, a sorrowful look on her face. She held up her hand for him to halt.

"No further please. One more step and I leave. For good this time." Morrigan warned him.

Tristan stopped, reluctantly.

"Hello to you, too, Morrigan." Tristan managed to say. It came out calm and steady, yet he felt anything but that inside.

"I assume you know what this is." Morrigan said, glancing back at the mirror. "I have gone to great lengths to find and activate this portal. Give me reason and I use it, and you will not be able to follow."

So, it was a portal. But that didn't mean anything to Tristan. He wanted answers. He wanted to know where his child was. "Then why haven't you left, if that's true?"

Morrigan grinned. "Truth be told, I waited this long because I was curious. Tell me, why did you come?"

"I came for answers."

"Answers? We all want answers. We had a deal. I save your life, and in return you leave me be. Why should I answer any of your questions now?"

Tristan thought for a moment. He had to make Morrigan talk. He grinned suavely, like the old days. "What do you have to lose?"

Morrigan laughed. "Always the charmer. Ask your questions then, since you have travelled so far."

Tristan, serious again, decided to come right out with it. "Tell me where the child is."

Morrigan hesitated for just a fraction of a second. "He is safe and beyond your reach. All you need to know is that the child is an innocent. He knows nothing of the destiny that lies before him."

_He_. Tristan had a son. He wanted to know more. By the Maker, he wanted to know where his child was. "That's not good enough." Tristan angrily stated.

"Because the child is yours? I understand. I will not share my plan with you. I dare not. If your trust is insufficient, then your anger will have to do." Morrigan replied, not unkindly.

Tristan grew frustrated. "What is your plan? I want to know."

Morrigan relented, a little. "My plan is to leave and prepare the child for what is to come. Such preparations require time, and power. I must have both if I am to be successful. More than this, I dare not say." Sadness washed over her face then. "Even to you."

Tristan was seriously frustrated. Morrigan was telling him nothing useful. So, she had plans for the child? They seemed devious, the way she was talking of destiny, time, and power. Her answers were doing nothing to ease his conscious. "No more questions."

"Then allow me to provide you a warning. 'Tis Flemeth you should beware of, not me. Hunt her if you hunt anyone."

Why was she bringing her mother into this? "Flemeth is dead."

Morrigan looked at Tristan askance. "My mother has tricked her way past death and more. She is no more finished than I am. I thought I knew what Flemeth planned." Morrigan walked slowly down the stairs towards Tristan, making him uneasy. "I thought what she craved was immortality, and yet I was wrong. So very wrong. She is no blood mage, no abomination, she is not even truly human. The ritual was but a means to an end. A herald for what is to come."

"Why? What is going to happen?" Tristan demanded.

"Change is coming to the world. Many fear change and will fight it with every fibre of their being. But sometimes, change is what they need most. Sometimes, change is what sets them free."

"That's not an answer." Tristan replied irritated by Morrigan's evasive responses.

"It is all I have to give," she retorted. Morrigan turned around to go back to the mirror. He wasn't going to let her go. Not after coming this far. He followed her to the mirror.

"Why did you betray me?" he asked suddenly.

She turned back to him. "I did not betray you. I left, just as I said I would."

"You lied to me all along." Tristan snapped.

"Tis true I deceived you. I did not think the battle with the archdemon would come so soon. And so I came to you. I needed you, yes, but I also did not wish to see you dead. And here you stand, alive. So do not speak to me of betrayal." Morrigan angrily replied.

"Alive, but at what cost? You dance around my concerns, speaking of destiny and change and garbage. This child, if it comes to harm… if you use it the way you…" Tristan stopped himself. He did not want to lose his temper. It would get him nowhere. Morrigan lowered her head and refused to say more on the matter.

"There is one last thing I must tell you if you will allow me. I left you a gift. The Dalish book is there and something you will find of great interest. Now, will you let me go?"

"Give me the child and you may go." Tristan tried one last time.

"He is beyond your reach as I soon will be." Morrigan replied firmly.

"Will I see you again?" Tristan asked.

"Not if you are fortunate." Morrigan replied cryptically. What was that supposed to mean? A chill travelled down his spine.

"I will come for him. I promise." Tristan replied quietly, menacingly.

"I am sorry. For everything." Morrigan looked him in the eyes. She truly did look sorrowful. But he wouldn't be fooled by her anymore. She would not have a hold on him any longer. He decided then that he would let her raise the child. He would wipe them both from his mind. But if he ever heard one whisper of her using the child for evil, he would not stand away. He would come for her. He turned around, infuriated by Morrigan's manner and walked back towards his companions. He did not turn to see Morrigan enter into the mirror.

Tristan caught sight of the Dalish book, stalked over to it and picked it up. He handed it to Ariane and without a word turned to leave the dreadful cavern.


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

Siofra sat under her mother's tree, deep in thought. It had been a couple of weeks since she had seen Tristan. She wondered about him every night, like she always had. Before, she thought of him as he had been when she last saw him, when she gave him up. But now she saw the man he had become. She thanked the gods for bringing him back to her. However, she wasn't sure how he would react to the truth. She wasn't sure he would care. Perhaps he would think her crazy. But she didn't mind. She needed to tell him everything. She needed to tell him about his father, and about how he came to exist in this world. If he kept his word and came back to see her, that is.

"It is not safe anymore to sit out here alone." Silas interrupted her thoughts. She sighed deeply.

"The Blight is over; there are no more darkspawn." Siofra replied.

"Yes, thanks to that Grey Warden." Silas admitted with a frown. Siofra nodded. He offered her his hand and she took it, arising from the ground. "Speaking of the man… he is here again, looking for you."

Siofra nearly stumbled. She looked at Silas. "Well, I will go see him then."

Silas did not let go of her. "I know everything," he confessed quietly.

"What?" Siofra was surprised. "What do you mean?"

"I know he is your son."

Siofra felt her stomach twist, her chest became tight and she struggled for words. "How?"

"I saw you in the forest. I saw Alras take the baby away. I know everything." Silas replied coolly. Siofra searched his face for any sign of anger or loathing. There was nothing there. He had known all along. He had known her father's shame then, yet despite it all, he had bonded with her, like he had always wanted. Siofra did not know what to say.

"Will you let me go to him?" she asked, looking directly in his eyes, pleadingly.

"I will not stop you." Silas replied. He let go of her arm. Siofra couldn't believe it. He had always hated humans, had gone on and on about his loathing for him, not unlike Ronan did these days. Silas had known about Rory, about their son. Yet he had never said anything. Perhaps time had mellowed him? Time… she would have time to talk to him later. Right now, she wanted to see her son.

"Thank you, Silas." Siofra said, turning away to go to the village. Silas did not acknowledge her gratitude.

…

Tristan sat patiently at the Keeper's fire. Loki lay stretched out by his side. He patted the hound's head as he stared down Ronan sitting across from him. The elf glared at him, making a show of sharpening his sword. The young lout made him question his decision to come back here. But he had promised the Keeper's wife, and he always kept his word.

Finally, the woman appeared at the fire, laying a gentle hand on Ronan's shoulder.

"My son, would you give us some privacy?" she asked him.

Ronan stood up from his seat. "Mother, I don't trust him. I don't care if he is the hero of Ferelden. I don't know why he is here and I don't want to leave you alone with him."

"Ronan, I asked him here. Don't worry. Just go. I will be fine." Siofra reassured him. Ronan gave one last menacing look at Tristan and then reluctantly left. Tristan straightened up and was about to stand up in greeting when Siofra motioned for him to stay seated. She took a seat across from him. "You have returned."

"I have returned." Tristan repeated. He didn't know what else to say. This woman made him nervous, not in a bad way, but in a good way, if that were possible. He supposed it was the way she looked at him, as if she had known him all his life.

"Did you find the woman you were looking for?" Siofra inquired.

"Yes." Tristan replied. He made no further comment.

"And yet you look just as troubled as before." Siofra remarked.

Tristan sighed. What did this woman want? Surely she didn't bring him here to ask about his wellbeing? "Not to be impolite, but what is it you wanted to tell me? I have obligations. I can't dally."

Instead of being offended at his words, Siofra smiled. "I am sure you have many obligations. But surely, you can indulge me for a little while?"

"Right. Do you wish a favour of me?" Tristan replied, a hint of frustration showing in his voice. He was trying very hard not to be rude. He muttered under his breath, "That is all that people ever seem to want from me."

"I wish only that you would listen to what I have to say. And that you consider carefully what I tell you before making any judgments." Siofra explained.

Tristan was terribly confused, but curious now. He removed his gauntlets and placed them on the ground beside him. Then he placed his sword and shield next to the gauntlets. "Fine. I have all day if you wish."

Siofra smiled. _Where to begin?_ she thought. "Tell me, have you ever wondered about the tattoos on your face?"

Tristan chuckled. "Funny you should ask me that. A friend asked me about them not too long ago. I told her what I tell everyone, that they were always there. In fact, I hardly ever notice them. They are a part of me. It is only when somebody points them out that I remember them."

Siofra nodded. "They are indeed, an important part of you. But… they were not always there." Siofra gazed at her son. He watched her curiously, giving his full attention to her. He didn't know that he was gazing at the woman who had given him life. This secret had plagued her; hung over her head like a dark and ominous storm cloud, and pursued her every waking moment in a never ending hunt. Until now; there would be no more secrets. She told him everything.

3


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